The Fall of Lord Kelvyn
by Commentaholic - Alpha 02
Summary: Battlehorn Castle, a supposed impenetrable fortress.  That is, until the Velvet Rogue came along.  Read the tale of the conflict That changes the Colovian Highlands forever.  Rated T for later violence, poisoning, and death.
1. Prologue

_**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**_

By Commentaholic

A/N: Hi again, for all of you people who are reading the prologue again! Well, here we are again at the start, and this is what I hope will be Prologue 2.0.

After some serious self-convincing, I'm managing to get myself to start rewriting my prologue, which was before a mere teaser trailer. For those of you just joining us, think of the last version as… the script of a movie teaser trailer… yeah…

Anyway, I hope I do better this time around by adding actual decent content to the prologue. Also, I hope this is the first in a long line of rewrites of my early chapters.

God knows how much chapters 1-8 need rewrites… First, I'll probably need to think of a name for this prologue. It's either that, or just leaving it as titled: "prologue."

I hope this rewrite will convince more people to read past chapter 1.

Read and Review!

-Commentaholic-

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Prologue

* * *

Antonio Pevengius stumbled through the brush, thin branches whipping at his steel armor. Breathing heavily, he plunged through the bushes and between the trees at a fear-driven pace. He risked a glance backwards to see if he had lost his pursuer. His steel-booted foot struck a small log that had been hidden in the tall grass, and he pitched forward to the ground, his armor clinking uproariously. Antonio rolled to his feet, cursing, and took off again. He heard the swish of robes behind him getting closer.

Antonio gasped in a lungful of air and ran even faster, his gauntleted fists pumping in an attempt to squeeze in some extra speed. The sound of the pursuer grew fainter, and then disappeared. Antonio ducked behind a tree and attempted to get his noisy breathing under control.

This patrol wasn't going anything like expected.

* * *

"Antonio, get a move on! The sooner we finish our loop, the sooner we can get back to the barracks for a couple of pints of ale." Bracius called out.

Antonio smiled, and jogged to catch up with his friend, the chainmail under his steel-plated armor jingling. He was glad that he had Bracius around on his cold, late-night patrols. Even though he'd only been posted at the fortress for a few days, the two had become friends.

"Hey, Bracius, do you have any idea why Old Man Kelvyn is so jumpy lately?" Antonio asked.

"I do not know for sure," Bracius answered, "But I think it has something to do with Alveroth and his squad. They haven't come back from their mission, so something must be up."

Bracius and Antonio walked along the low stone wall that marked the perimeter of the fort's holdings. Antonio could hear an owl hooting in the forest beyond. He looked up, admiring the light that Masser and Secunda provided. They were full tonight, the two red and white orbs dominating the star-studded skies.

Antonio heard a rustle from the forest and looked at Bracius, who looked back. He had heard it, too.

"Show yourself!" Bracius said, drawing his sword. Antonio did likewise, his steel longsword gleaming in the moonlight.

Suddenly, Bracius shoved Antonio to the ground, and Antonio caught a glimpse of a burst of fire before he tumbled to the ground. He was up in an instant, looking around for where the fireball came from, when he noticed Bracius lying on the ground, smoldering.

Bracius had not thought twice about shoving Antonio to safety, and had taken the brunt of the fireball to his face and upper torso. The intensity of the flames had killed the Imperial in seconds. Antonio gave a strangled cry of sorrow at the sight of his friend's scorched body.

Antonio looked around, brandishing his sword, seeking to exact revenge for the death of his comrade. Another fireball streaked towards Antonio, but this time he was ready. His shield blocked the ball of flames, grew red hot, and began to melt. Antonio threw it aside before he could be scorched by the now useless shield.

A cloaked figure strode from the shadows of the forest, heading towards Antonio. Antonio gave a war cry and charged towards his friend's killer. The figure whipped a shimmering Elven claymore from its back and parried Antonio's overhead swing easily. The robed stranger brought the long glittering blade around in an arc, bringing its edge to Antonio's blade, which snapped off in a shower of sparks.

Antonio ripped off his helmet, threw it at the dark figure, and sprinted off into the forest, fleeing for his life.

* * *

Antonio waited in silence for any sign that the figure was still on his trail.

Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back into the elm he was leaning against, looking up into its branches. Now that that was over with, he had to get back and warn the others.

The sound of the blade piercing his breastplate was all the warning he had. He looked down to see a long, thin blade shoved into his stomach. Tendrils of lightning coursed along the blade's length, causing agony when they followed the metal into Antonio's entrails, which were seeping through the gash in his gut.

The cloaked figure holding the blade leaned closer, shadow obscuring its face.

"N-Not like this," Antonio gasped out, "Not out here, alone…"

"Fear not, you won't be alone for long. You and your friend were only the beginning," a female voice said darkly.

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked the rewrite! I'm still going need help coming up with names, though. Arty Thrip's list of names is running low. I need more imperial names if I'm going to have the final battle have any sort of brotherhood among the soldiers.

-Commentaholic


	2. Chapter 1: Velvet Haven's Visitors

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

A/N: Thank you Arty for my sole character suggestion, for that, he'll have key character positions in the story, HA! That'll show all of you who didn't review on my teaser trailer -_-

I intend it to be less Author's note this time, :P, but I still tend to feel the urge to tell people what I'm thinking and planning at the time.

All credit goes to Bethesda, except for pretty much any bandit, or any character not living in Battlehorn Castle. The name for The Velvet Rogue, I credit to my dad, because I couldn't think of a name for a bandit lord. I credit Helen to Arty Thrip. I realize that I haven't revealed any races pretty much, but that will come in this chapter probably.

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Chapter 2: Velvet Haven's Visitors

The Velvet Rogue

A Dunmer woman in elven armor stood by a raised platform with a map of a fortress on it. Her velvet cloak swirling about her slender, yet strong, form as her sharp eyes studied the blueprints, seeing things most tactitians would miss.

A shout interrupted her concentration.

"Lord Velvet! Intruders are approaching the compound!"

The Velvet Rogue sighed, running her hand through her hair; these bandit minions would never know true decorum or discipline. She would have to teach this herald a lesson. Her orange hair whipped around, a fiery whirlwind as she rounded on the minion, eyes flashing like the sun.

"How many times have I told you people to show some sort of respect upon entry to my command tent, Peasant! I should have you whipped for your insolence!"

The 153-year old Breton Vampire visibly flinched at this rebuke.

"Sorry, Lady Velvet," the Breton said groveling for forgiveness.

The Velvet Rogue grimaced at her mistake.

Velvet sighed again, "Helen, how many times must I tell you, no one grovels to me, least of all you, my old friend!"

Helen, the Vampiric Breton had been with Velvet for what must have been 15 years. Wherever Velvet laid her trail of carnage, Helen would be following along to pick up the loot. She had grown up in High Rock, then moved to morrowind at the age of 12, living there for 4 years. There, she had been on her way to Balmora on an errand with her family when she was abducted and bitten by a vampire. She spent the next 122 years wandering the areas between morrowind and cyrodiil, eventually ending up in the Colovian Highlands.

There, a kind young Dunmer found a weak vampire on the verge of death. Unable to find any animals nearby from which to draw blood, she spilt some of her own into a bowl. With this bond in blood, Helen recovered, Velvet went on to become a Bandit Warlord, but Helen always considered herself in debt to Velvet. A friendship formed that would last forever, even if they themselves would not. Helen would follow Velvet till the day she died, giving her life if necessary to ensure Velvet's survival.

Helen rose to her feet, "Apologies My Lady, but an Imperial and two Argonians have been spotted approaching the camp from the east.

They are wearing dark cloaks and similarly dark armor."

"Perfect! Send them in once they arrive! Pay attention, Helen, this is the event which will tip our next siege in our favor. I've been waiting for this special team from Cheydinhal."

About 6 minutes later, the Imperial and two Argonians entered Velvet's Tent.

"Well, well, it's about time you got here. I was almost afraid you'd miss the party, Lucien Lachance!"

* * *

A/N: Ooooooh, gives me goosebumps!

Keep bringing in character suggestions, everyone! You can't expect Arty to come up with them all!


	3. Chapter 2: Velvet's Pain and Memories

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

A/N: I know! So soon after my last chapter, but ever since I started writing these chapters on my iTouch, I haven't been able to stop myself.

To Arty Thrip, I really appreciate your comments and contributions.

To all other readers, please don't be shy about reviewing!

* * *

Chapter 3:

_Velvet Pain and Sanguine Salvation _

The two Argonians stood in the shadows while Lucien stepped forward to greet Velvet.

"It's been a while since you left us Velvet, what brought about this sudden nostalgia?," said Lucien in his slow, deep voice.

"You know full well what I want. I explained it all in my letter to you, and might I add, was very hard to get it to you past those sorry excuses for skeletons you love so much. AND I had to get all the way up to that slimy, disgusting, poor excuse for a home you call Fort Farragut." Velvet taunted.

Lucien's eyes narrowed, "Indeed, and as per your letter, I brought the specialists you requested. Although, I do wonder what scheme you are planning for which you would factor in something you do not possess in your quite large skill set. Why do you need infiltration specialists?"

"Lucien, please," said Velvet," What good is a surprise attack when someone knows that it's coming?"

"Do I look like the kind of person who would enjoy the sentiment of sparing someone pain and torment?"

"The same sentiment I showed to you when you came crawling to me, pleading with me to help you," Velvet sneered, "and the same sentiment you failed to show me when I needed someone to spare my life when I botched that contract?"

"Those were isolated incidents-"

"You needed my help to escape from your 'Black Hand' while your silencer searched for the necessary evidence you needed to clear your name and you know it!" Velvet yelled. "The only reason I was able to do so was because I managed to escape your clutches back in Cheydinhal!"

Lucien bowed his head.

"You do realize what you asked me to do at the time, correct?" he said.

"I asked you to support your most prodigious member after the Morag Tong got to my target first!" said Velvet, tears in her eyes now. "10 years later, I saved you, even though I vowed to kill you next time I saw you. Now I'm calling in the favor you owe me."

Lucien spread his hands placatingly, "And I'm holding up my end of the bargain, I brought you your team."

"They'd better fit the bill!" said Velvet.

"Oh, they will," said Lucien, " We're even now, no more favors!"

Lucien stormed out of the tent, mounted Shadowmere, and rode into the night.

Velvet silently watched him go, tears glistening on her cheeks.

* * *

A/N: I didn't plan any of this as I was writing it; I surprise myself at what I can come up with on the spot. Pretty good for ad lib, though, eh?

I didn't even know I had a soft spot for childhood angst from the main character. Is it possible that Lucien had to put aside his feelings for his favorite student of shadows? Maybe i'll do a follow-up to this, maybe a flashback or two... of course that means i'll need more characters... SEND MORE CHARACTERS


	4. Chapter 3: Betrayal and Escape

**The Fall of Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

A/N: I'm not sure how long I can keep going without any sort of input other than Arty, don't get me wrong Arty, you're great, you keep up with my stories and help me create names. I just don't know if it's worth writing if nobody else ever reviews…

I'm going to do a flashback this chapter, because I simply can't see any possible easy transition into either the fortress or bandit camp… Plus, I kinda want to find out the story of Velvet's past myself, as even I do not know where I'm going with this, even as I write it.

I sat down this morning with no idea where I'd be writing about, or who, or what. Writers block ain't got no hold on me!

-sigh- I really need some encouragement, don't mean to be a downer.

God, I'm depressed this morning. I mean, three chapters, three reviews from the same person…

Don't mind me, try to enjoy. Thanks Arty, characters shall rise from the pages of your message.

I shall end this author's note with the timeless fanfiction author line:

Read and Review!

* * *

Chapter 3: Betrayal and Escape

_13 years earlier_

A shadow slipped past the Imperial Legion guards posted at the archway between Green Emperor Way and the Talos Plaza District. It made its way onto the pedestal of the statue in the center of the plaza before becoming visible to the sharp eye in the shadow of the statue of the dragon. A slender form in dark, tight-fitting leather armor materialized, her invisibility spell dissipating. Glancing fervently from side to side, she drew out a scroll of parchment. Unfurling it, she scanned its contents.

_Velvet,_

_I know this is a huge step up in the difficulty of your missions, but I believe you can handle it. Your target is the wife of the Earl of Imbel, she was once known as Manon Nielle before she married him 2 weeks ago. It seems as though a jilted lover wants revenge, and we are only too happy to oblige. _

_Listen, I want you to be careful on this one. Some rumors hint at someone else being after her as well. Whoever it is, you must get there first, Sithis demands it._

_Velvet, I want you to know that whatever happens, I will always care for you._

_Lovingly,_

_-Lucien_

Velvet hugged this scroll to her chest, tears sparkling in her eyes. She jerked out of her soft moment, slipping into the cold, heartless emotions of an assassin.

She readied her knife, Sufferthorn, and snuck over to the door of Jakben's house.

The lock on the door, though hard as it was, held her up for merely a few seconds.

The foyer was empty, which wasn't surprising, considering that it was about 1 in the morning. She proceeded to the left, which led to the Countess's chambers.

She heard a slight bump inside. She breathed in sharply. Slipping into the shadows, she counted to ten. Nobody had heard her. She slipped over to the door, reaching for her lockpick, but she found the door already unlocked.

Glancing behind her, she slipped backwards through the doorway.

When she closed the door, she turned around to a terrible sight.

A Dunmer in leather armor and a black hood stood over the Countess, a knife dripping blood upon the Reman carpet. He looked up, grinning evilly.

"Better luck next time, assassin!"

He leapt out the window, which was already open, presumably his place of entrance.

_NO, no, no, this can't be happening!_ Velvet thought_. I'll get killed for failing my mission!_

Wait.

Lucien would understand it wasn't her fault, he'd spare her, she knew it.

She snuck out of the blood-spattered room. She made her way to the Waterfront, where she caught a quick rest before setting out for Cheydinhal again.

In her dream, no, more of a nightmare, the Dark Brotherhood was hunting her. She was fleeing from her brothers and sisters in shadow, dodging arrows and axe blows.

She fled to Fort Farragut, hoping Lucien would help. He met her in the courtyard, the pursuit vanished. She ran into Lucien's arms.

Lucien whispered, "You failed us."

Velvet couldn't believe her ears. "What?"

"You have failed the dread father, the Night Mother, and most of all, me."

A black dagger appeared in his hand. She tried to move but couldn't.

Lucien, her teacher, her father figure… her love, betrayal shattered her heart.

Velvet woke up crying.

She knew it couldn't be true, that Lucien would spare her, save her, love her.

She went to Cheydinhal the next morning, proceeding to the well next to the abandoned building that housed the secret lair of the Brotherhood. Her key clicked in the lock, and as she removed the covering and started lowering herself in, an arrow almost pierced her skull as it flew up the well's shaft.

Velvet staggered back, adrenaline pumping from the near death experience. She didn't even realize that she was surrounded by figures in the dark.

"Hello Velvet." Said Telaendril, climbing out of the well.

"Brothers, Sisters, what is the meaning of this?" cried Velvet.

"You have failed us, dear Sister, and as much as it pains us to do so, you must die." said Ocheeva.

"Where's Lucien, he'll sort this out!" Velvet stuttered.

"I'm right here, Sister." said a voice from the shadows.

Lucien stepped forward, a dark look on his face.

"Lucien! Please tell them it's all a mistake!" wept Velvet.

"I cannot do that, you have failed us." said Lucien.

Velvet's head jerked up, dreading what was coming.

"You have failed us, The Dread Father, The Night Mother, and me."

"NO!" yelled Velvet.

Lucien stepped forward, dagger in hand, as Gogron and M'raaj-Dar grabbed her arms.

She struggled against her captors. But the combined strength of a fully grown Orc and a Khajiit was enough to keep her slender form, more suited for sneaking, in hand.

Lucien approached slowly, theatrically, as was his way.

Lucien leaned close, "I'm sorry for this." he said.

"As am I, for THIS!" she kicked him in the fork of his legs. Lucien keeled over.

Velvet twisted her arms about in their joints, dislocating them, but using the motion to drop in behind Gogron and M'raaj-Dar and kicking their pressure points, dropping them in an instant. She jerked her arms back into place as she regarded the rest of her former "family".

Telaendril was readying an enchanted shock arrow, Ocheeva and Teinaava their daggers, Antoinetta her short sword. Vicente was nowhere to be seen. She looked around quickly to try to find him.

"Here, dear Sister." came a voice from behind.

Her world exploded in a flash of extreme pain as his claymore found purchase in her lower back, the flame enchantment searing her internal organs.

"That is quite enough out of you, Velvet. Now die with honor, as befits your people." said Vicente in his calmest voice. "Don't make this any more difficult than this has to be."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," said Velvet, "but sadly, I cannot allow that to happen."

She suddenly disappeared amidst a nexus of light, the Dark Brotherhood covered their eyes at the brightness.

Vicente felt an elven dagger enter his side while a whisper entered his ear.

"I won't kill you, for Helen." was all he heard before losing consciousness.

Vicente woke up 3 days later in his room, Ocheeva at his side.

"What happened?" he said.

"She got away, but what else should we have expected from Lucien's best student?"

_50 miles away at Hidden Camp_

Velvet winced as she tightened her bandages around her waist. Helen was away gathering firewood and water from the stream.

"I'll have revenge on them if it kills me. Especially on Lucien Lachance."

* * *

A/N: Well, that ended up better and longer than I expected. I hope I might've satisfied your curiosity at what happened all those years ago between the Dark Brotherhood and Velvet.

And yes, her name is Velvet, named for the color of her hair at birth, she dyed it the color of fire after her vow of revenge, to match the fiery fury of her vengeance. She opted for the name Rogue to symbolize her separation from the Dark Brotherhood.

You know? I actually feel a little better than I did when I started this about 30 minutes ago :D


	5. Chapter 4: Starlight and Shadow

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

A/N: I'd just like to thank Arty for hauling me out of my pit of depression. I now realize, as I should have from the beginning that fanfiction is about the readers, not about getting credit for it. And while getting reviews is nice, it's just nice doing something constructive and creative with my free time.

Read and Review!

This one might be a bit shorter than last time, I intend for it to be a mere revealer about two soon-to-be-major characters

I don't own Oblivion, Bethesda does.

I thank my dad for Velvet's name, Arty Thrip for Helen and the two Argonians, anyone that wasn't created by Bethesda is mine. In closing, I'd like to thank Leonette for inspiring me to write.

Thank you, and sorry for the long A/N

-Commentaholic

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Chapter 4: Starlight and Shadow

_

* * *

_

_Present Day, 5 minutes after Lucien's Departure _

As Velvet stormed back into her tent, her eyes quickly glanced over to the silent Argonians. They still stood shrouded by the shadows in the corner, their eyes twin pairs of gleaming pinpricks in the darkness.

Velvet sat down behind her map table, secretly feeling for the enchanted dagger hidden underneath. It was always best to be prepared when dealing with newcomers to her camp. This habit was even more important when dealing with the Dark Brotherhood.

"Well, why don't two have a seat. I need to get acquainted with you and your skills. I particularly need to know what you can do for me and my horde," said Velvet.

The Argonians slowly approached with a calm, steady grace that Velvet already knew came with the job of an assassin.

At first, their appearances startled Velvet, not that she'd let it show.

The male was a striking specimen of his kind. He had dark green scales and a dark red dorsal fin that curled back to the nape of his neck. But the feature that really caught her attention was the color of his eyes:

They were jet black, a disturbing difference from the traditional Argonian eye color of amber.

The female had scales of a deep ocean blue, and had spikes jutting out from around the rim of her scalp. Her stunning feature, while a little less unnerving, was spectacular nonetheless: Her eyes were a brilliant, shining shade of blue, almost bright enough to make one think that it inhibited her stealth.

The Argonians sat on the proffered chairs across from Velvet. The male spoke in a thick Black Marsh accent:

"Perhapsss I should introduce my sissster and I. We are known as Ssshadow and Sssstarlight," he said, indicating himself then his sibling, both of them bowing, "It isss an honor to finally meet the legendary Velvet. You are ssstill sssomewhat of a myth among the murderersss. Ssstoriesss are ssstill told of how you essscaped Lucien'ss grasssp, and eluded the entirety of the Black Hand'sss fabled Predator Legion to boot."

Good to know I left quite the impression, Velvet thought smugly.

"The stories are correct," Velvet said, her face grim, "Although to this day, I'm still curious as to why they wanted me dead so badly."

"Indeed," said Starlight, her voice smoother compared to Shadow's, almost possessing an unusual musical lilt to it, "but let's leave the gossipping for another time, Shadow."

"Apologiesss, Sissster," intoned Shadow, almost as if he was used to her getting him back on task.

"As you asked of Lucien, he brought us, his most skilled Nightblades," said Starlight, "our areas of expertise are infiltration by way of climbing, poisons, archery, and a little knowledge in the way of diversions."

It was obvious that Starlight was the more mature of the two. Velvet guessed that she was the elder sibling, despite being a full two inches shorter than Shadow. It also helped that she didn't have the thick accent her brother had.

Starlight seemed like the one to see about planning the mission due to her intelligence being seemingly higher than Shadow's. But, because of years of experience, Velvet knew better than to trust a first impression.

One did not become one of Lucien's chosen by mere strength. Velvet herself had proved that when she'd ascended to the position of Lucien's favorite within a year of joining the Brotherhood.

Apprehensive of these unknown factors, she beckoned them closer to the diagram.

She gestured at the table, indicating the topography and architecture that she'd been studying before Lucien's arrival.

"This is Battlehorn Castle and its surrounding areas."

"I've heard of thisss place, it'ssss suppossssed to be imposssible to even get in," Shadow said, stating the obvious, "Why are you showing usss thisss?"

Maybe his sister had something to do with him getting this far after all. That, or it was all an act, either way, Velvet decided to keep a close eye on him.

"I thought it'd be quite clear," said Velvet.

She paused for effect.

"I, like you, have heard of it's supposed invincibility," said Velvet, "that's why I'm going to prove the legend wrong.

"That's why you're here, we're going to make history."

Velvet smiled slowly.

"We march on Battlehorn at dawn."

Starlight, obviously expecting this, nodded.

But the sight of Shadow's gaping mouth was priceless.

* * *

A/N: I tried for an exciting end of chapter, do you think I pulled it off as suspenseful? I am writing this on my iTouch at midnight because I can't sleep. I just couldn't wait till morning or I'd lose the Muse.

Again, I'm sorry if the length doesn't please you, this was originally meant to be only an introduction for Shadow and Starlight. I think i captured them kinda well considering all I had to work with was a name, race, faction, and gender. What do you think, Arty?

Again (I really have to stop using "again", but I find that I repeat certain "thank you's"), thanks for the characters and encouragement, Arty, I'm really having fun with them. And I'm happily confident with a chapter for the first time in weeks. Expect some of the other characters you created to show up in the upcoming chapter, if I can fit them into the mobilization.

I hope I can keep up my submissions once school starts on the 24th of August. All you readers who like this story, I hope that you're hoping that I can! Send in that joy after you read!

-Commentaholic


	6. Chapter 5: Quartermasters and Speakers

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn **

By Commentaholic

**A/N: Well, I had one of my most successful chapters last submission. 2 Reviews! Of course, I'd like to thank ArtyThrip and DualKatanas for their very useful constructive criticism. For those of you who don't know, I'm new to writing, so these people who aren't new are really helpful in correcting my flaws.**

**In clarification, Velvet had to undergo very intense and painful training at the hands of Lucien (think the Spartan training from Halo: The Fall of Reach, but more brutal). After that, dislocating and popping back in one's shoulders would be like a bee sting, because as you can imagine, Lucien's training would be brutal.**

**Read and Review!**

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Chapter 5: Quartermasters and Speakers

_Velvet Haven, 11:23 p.m._

Helen knew better than to interrupt Velvet while she was in her element, so she exited the archway and left Dunmer and Argonians to their planning.

She made her way across the compound, intent on carrying out Velvet's command to assemble the bandits for their march.

Uninhibited by the darkness, Helen strode towards the Quartermaster's tent. It was instantly recognizable, as none of the other tents had a chimney.

As she neared the archway, Helen could hear the telltale clang of a hammer on an anvil.

Helen shook her head. No matter how many times they'd offered to make him a stone building for his forging, he'd always refused. He claimed that he couldn't let them go through so much trouble on his account. Besides, he hadn't had any problems with his tent catching on fire so far, and his weapons were very useful, so they had dropped the issue.

She opened the tent flap to receive a blast of hot air in her face. As a vampire, she disliked heat, so she staggered back, tripping over one of the tent's support ropes. As she sprawled on the ground, a hand appeared in her vision.

Helen heard a mirthful chuckle, and a voice said, "Helen, my friend, when are you going to learn not to open my tent's doorflap when you're standing in front of it?"

Helen looked up, a Redguard stood there, hand outstretched to help her up.

"I will, when you learn not to keep your forge's heat so high. I think the ice on the other side of the camp is melted," Helen retorted, a smile on her face as she took the hand and got to her feet.

"Rhesus, we have something important to discuss," Helen said, her humor vanishing.

Similarly, Rhesus's smile vanished, he gestured towards his tent, "Let me put out the forge, then we can talk."

Rhesus went back inside, a minute later he called her in.

No matter how many times she entered his tent, she was still speechless at his trophies of many battles. She walked around the walls looking at the armor and weapons hanging on display while he changed out of his blacksmith's apron and into his normal light brown outfit.

In between trophies, she glanced at him, wondering what could turn an honorable warrior like him into the quartermaster for a bandit horde. Helen made a mental note to ask Velvet, she knew him better than anyone else did.

Originally from Hammerfell, Rhesus the Redguard stood at 6'8", a head taller than Helen, who was already tall for her race. She had seen him in his usual steel armor, expertly self-handcrafted to fit his athletic form. When practicing his fighting skills with some of the more violent bandits, he would easily floor them with his mace, dancing around them in an agile blur with the bulky weapon; it was truly a thing to see. It also made you fear how much more deadly he was with the more agile steel longsword he carried on his belt.

Helen paused at what looked like Imperial Arena heavy raiment hanging on the wall. It had a vicious slash through the stomach of its yellow-dyed cuirass.

"What's the story with this one?" Helen inquired.

"A bad Arena battle years ago. I was put up against an Orc, a big fellow. It was a good fight, but I came out the worse of the two of us, though." Rhesus said, grimacing at a memory.

"Then how did you escape? All Arena battles are to the death!" Helen said.

"Who said I escaped?"

Helen sat at a table, a quizzical look on her face, "Then how-"

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Rhesus said while he sat down, the look on his face closing the topic, "Now, what is this important matter?"

Helen, even though she was still curious, decided to let him have his secrets.

"Lord Velvet says that we move out at dawn, she wants the troops to be ready."

"Finally! I was afraid we'd be sitting idle forever, I've had my hands full keeping these guys busy," Rhesus said, his grin reappearing in a flash of white teeth.

After discussing the mobilization, Helen started back towards Velvet's Tent.

_

* * *

_

_Cheydinhal, the same night at 12:43 p.m._

* * *

Mivryna Arano heard hoof beats and hastened up off her mat to open the gate to the horse enclosure. She prided herself in being able to hear a horse a mile away, giving herself enough time to make it up and to the gate. That way, even if the person already had a horse, she could be up and ready to advertise their black horses.

This horse that she heard coming up the road, however, seemed almost to be setting an impossible pace.

She peered out into the darkness, looking for the horse and it's rider. A few seconds later, two eyes appeared, and they were approaching fast.

A black horse soared out of the night, bowled Mivryna over, jumped the enclosure fence, and slid to a stop.

A cloaked rider dismounted, dropped a small bag of coins at Mivryna's side, and strode through the city gates.

Mivryna finally slipped from her weak cling to the fence at the same time that the rider passed through the gates. The nearby guard helped her up, asking her what had happened.

"A demon just walked through that gate," was her reply.

_

* * *

_

_Cheydinhal Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, same night at 12:47 p.m._

* * *

Ovheeva heard the well cover slide open and close again. Feet thudded against each rung of the ladder as if they had done the person a personal wrong.

It had to be Lucien; all the murderers were accounted for except Shadow and Starlight, whom she knew had gone with Lucien.

Lucien stormed in through the small well archway, turned left, and went down into the Administrator's living chambers.

He had taken to living in the sanctuary after the whole Bellamont fiasco. Ocheeva believed this was because he no longer saw Fort Farragut as safe after his fortress had been assaulted by the Predator Legion. The Sanctuary, at least, could be sealed with a new password and key.

Ocheeva followed him down the hall. If he was aware of her presence, he didn't show it. Lucien just kept mumbling to himself. Ocheeva heard snatches of phrases, like: "Wasn't my fault..." and "Impertinent child..."

Vicente Valtieri heard him coming and stepped out of his room to intercept him, a slight limp in his step he'd had ever since Velvet's escape, when she'd inadvertently (she assumed, because Vicente still lived), stabbed into one of his vertebrae. Those nerves had never fully healed, even with the supernatural healing abilities of a vampire.

Lucien just brushed him aside, sending Vicente staggering into the wall. Ocheeva made sure Vicente was okay, and then continued her pursuit.

Lucien arrived at his door, entered, and slammed it behind him.

Ocheeva could hear quiet sobbing, accompanied by the words, " I'm sorry, my sweet Velvet... I'm so sorry..."

Ocheeva retreated quietly back down the hallway.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: Well, I think this is my second-longest chapter after chapter 3. Dualkatanas, I may not be able to get to 9,000 words per chapter as fast as you did. I hope I did Rhesus justice; I kind of want to leave his survival to be a story for later, as well as the stories of Shadow and Starlight, Helen and Vicente, and Velvet and Lucien.**

**To clarify there are two people with very similar names in Cyrodiil: Myvryna Arano (thieves guild agent) and Mivryna Arano (worker at Black Waterside Stables outside Cheydinhal), for all of those who wanted to correct me.**


	7. Chapter 6: Love and Shadows

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: I don't know what's possessing me to write again so soon, this is like the third chapter in a week. Maybe it's the fact that I got put on someone's story alert list AND got two reviews. I might never know. Also: Celebrating 250 Hits and 150 Views this month :D. ****Who woulda thought we'd come this far.**

**To tell the truth, as I'm writing this author's note, I have no idea what I'm going to do for this chapter. I hope that once I pick a starting point, the muse will strike. Despite the chapters name, which might be a bit transparent, the rest should fall into place. It's getting hard to make up titles with "and" in the middle without it being taken the wrong way or being too transparent.**

**Enough rambling out of me...**

**Read and Review!**

Chapter 6: Love and Shadows

* * *

_Lucien sat in his room, tears welling in his eyes as regret and memories burned in his mind._

* * *

**14 years, 7 months earlier**

* * *

Lucien strode through the dead fields towards the farmhouse. It was rare that he himself had to go on the recruitment runs, but apparently the Night Mother herself had specified his presence at this particular family member's invitation.

His feet crunched on the dried-out grain, two weeks dead by the look of it. Lucien grimaced, the fact that he knew that reminded him of his humble beginnings as a son of a farmer. He stomped that memory down, just like he had done to his father's life. He had freed himself from it then, and he wouldn't let it hold him back now.

He approached the door, casting his customary chameleon spell. He opened the locked door with a wave of his hand, the alteration's magic fading as his hand touched the latch.

He opened the door cautiously, peeking around the corner invisibly. Two occupied beds, he'd have known this if he'd been any good at mysticism. He stepped inside. He'd been told that his mission was to recruit a young girl with red hair.

He looked between the two sleeping figures, the one on the left was a Breton woman that had dark brown, shoulder length hair.

Lucien gasped, one on the right was a beautiful Dunmer. Her hair was the color of rich scarlet. The elegant dark red tide cascaded down her shoulders, framing her beautiful face. Her face was thin, but beautiful, and had all the indications of high Morrowind breeding. How could this treasure be a killer? He had bent to get a closer look when her eyes snapped open.

"Helen, now!" the Dunmer yelled. The Breton leapt into action, almost flying across the room, hitting and carrying Lucien to the ground in a tumble of commoners' clothes and dark robes. Lucien snarled, throwing the Breton off of him, only to find the Dunmer holding the blade of a steel claymore to his neck. The blade was wavering, she was obviously not accustomed to wielding it, but Lucien didn't want to press his luck. She said, "Explain yourself, NOW!"

Dissipating his chameleon spell, seeing that it was useless, he raised his hands slowly, saying, " I guess it's too late to tell you that you sleep rather soundly for a murderer.". He smiled while her eyes, her beautiful emerald eyes, previously flashing with fury, now showing only shock and confusion.

**

* * *

**

**Fort Farragut Basement Floor 3: Training Room, 2 months later**

* * *

Lucien watched as the cloaked figure flitted in and out of the course's shadows. The figure leapt out quickly, slashing through two Dark Guardians with one swipe of the swift elven claymore it carried. Bone fragments clattered off the cold stone walls as the figure leapt back into the shadows as 3 more Dark Guardians approached at what passed for a shambling run.

They began searching the shadows with their eyeless sockets, blades at the ready.

Suddenly, the figure appeared in a flash of light behind the skeletons and cut them all down before they could move a single bone.

Lucien looked down at the hourglass on his desk, taking his eyes off the figure. It was straightening up from its crouching position in the cavern below his observation balcony.

He made a note of the time on a piece of parchment. A footstep and the thunk of a long slender blade embedding itself into his desk were his only warning as the figure appeared next to him, removing its hood and shaking out its long dark red hair, the young woman beneath those velvet curls was even more enchanting.

In only two months, she had come far from that undisciplined young girl in a broken down farmhouse. Though he did wonder, why she preferred the elven claymore for these courses, especially when the dagger was more of an assassin's weapon. Maybe it carried some sort of emotional value, maybe that's why she wielded one the night they had met. But then again, maybe she just wasn't one much for conformity.

"How'd I do, Lachance?" she said.

"The best time of the group, as usual, Velvet, did you really need to ask?" said Lucien.

"But of course, you know how I love to hear how much I trounced your record by each time I run the course," Velvet said, a smug look on her face.

"4 seconds, but did you really need to hit them that hard?" Lucien gestured towards the piles of bones slowly pulling themselves back together, "They have feelings, too, you know. Plus, it gets increasingly hard to find necromancers to keep enchanting the bones, now that Archmage Traven has banned Necromancy."

"Please, Lachance, they're as dead as Rufio, and you know it," Velvet bantered, and as far as necromancers go, I'm pretty sure you can find them as easy as ever. All you need to do is kill a man, then wait in the graveyard."

Lucien smiled, he enjoyed her company and her banter, and as loathe he was to admit it, relished his sparring lessons with her.

"Well, the flash that special spell if yours makes is bright enough to wake the dead. It kind of ruins the element of surprise. Besides, when are you going to teach someone how to do it, so they can keep up with you. It's hard to find you a partner for your harder contracts when they all know you just run off ahead anyway."

"And why would I do that? That'd give up my advantage in the challenges! Also, they should learn to keep up on their own," Velvet said, crossing her arms.

Lucien rolled his eyes. The challenges were all she ever thought of anymore. Ever since she'd discovered the training room, she had spent most of her free time in there, day in and day out.

Snapping back to reality, Lucien dismissed Velvet to her chambers for the night.

Lucien sat at his desk, thinking of how quickly Velvet had risen through the ranks, she was a natural. It was amazing that they hadn't discovered her earlier.

**

* * *

**

**2 months later, Fort Farragut Basement level 2: Lounge**

* * *

Lucien sat waiting in his chambers in Fort Farragut. Velvet was late, probably off gallavanting with that Breton Vampire woman, Helen.

Lucien snarled, Helen was having a bad influence on Velvet's emotionless state, giving her ideas of "morals". The murderer that Lucien had ordered to follow her had reported that she'd hesitated before dealing the death blows of the last two targets. Such hesitations were unbecoming of a coldhearted assassin.

He'd decided to have a word with her when she arrived for their usual sparring session. It was normally something he looked forward to, but now he was dreading it.

A voice came from behind, "You seem tense tonight, Lucien."

It was Velvet, that was obvious, but she'd never been concerned about his well-being before. Neither had she ever called him by his first name. Lucien gritted his teeth, this was Helen's handiwork.

"You are late, and I have something to talk to you about, Velvet," said Lucien.

"What's wrong?" Velvet inquired.

Lucien rubbed his head. For all his waiting, he hadn't really thought much about what he was going to say. He had to put it in a way that still seemed professional.

"Velvet, I need to ask you something." Lucien said solemnly.

"What is it, Lucien?" replied Velvet.

"Listen, I know this will be hard for you, but I need to ask you to part ways with Helen, she isn't good for your career." Lucien said.

The look on her face nearly tore his heart out, those beautiful emerald eyes welling up with tears.

"W-What? Why?" she asked.

He had to finish this quickly, or else he couldn't stop himself from comforting her, and he couldn't let his feelings for her show. It would mean the end for both of their careers, as well as their lives.

"Velvet," he started softly, "Helen is beginning to make you doubt your missions, isn't she, making you doubt the Brotherhood's intentions."

"She's only looking out for me. She knows it's all important to me: my new family, my new home...and you!".

Her eyes met his, and there was something in them that he'd never noticed before: love.

This sudden revelation almost bowled Lucien over, he had to grab the nearby table to keep from falling. Now it was Lucien's turn to stammer, "What? What did you say?"

"I love you, I always have, ever since I joined the Dark Brotherhood. You are what made me work so hard, I wanted to be closer to you.". Her eyes were so filled with tears now that she probably couldn't see.

Lucien brought her close, wiping the tears from her eyes. He didn't know why he was doing it, he just knew he had to do it.

"I know how you feel, Velvet. I feel the same way." Lucien said softly.

Velvet looked up, her eyes wide. "Really?" she choked out.

"Yes, I loved you the moment I saw you asleep in that farmhouse, even when you held that blade to my throat, all I could really think about was how much you looked like a warrior goddess."

They embraced, standing entwined for several minutes, reveling in this new joy.

Lucien was the first to break contact, pulling away gently saying, "as you know, none of the family can know about this. The Brotherhood frowns on emotional ties, they make it harder to do what must be done."

Velvet nodded, "I understand"

Lucien stroked her hair, feeling the softness. Never in his dreams had he thought this possible, she had been the forbidden fruit, but all this time she had been the locked box with the key that had been inside all along.

They parted, her back to the sanctuary, he to his chambers.

* * *

**3 months later**

* * *

Lucien paced in his study, waiting for Velvet's arrival.

They had been carrying out their secret relationship without suspicion for just about 3 months, and tonight, her mission was more dangerous than ever. Taking on a lich was usually a task reserved for a Silencer, and yes, while her skills were around that level, he had argued with her against her leaving.

She had responded, "Lucien, you can't keep me hidden because of our relationship. I am a Dark Brotherhood member, I live for the Dread Father and for the kill. You can't keep protecting me like I'm made of porcelain.". She had left for Lost Boys Cavern 5 minutes later, after collecting her shrouded armor, her cloak, and her enchanted elven claymore, Darkrend.

He heard the clatter of the secret passage's cover and hurried to the ladder. "Velvet? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be, Lucien?" she said as she dropped into his arms from the secret ladder, knocking the wind out of him.

"I assume you were successful, as you still live." said Lucien.

"Of course, here's the proof!" she pulled out a rotting skull of a lich and a staff with necromancer runes upon it.

"Good, good," said Lucien, "but I'm sorry to say that there's another mission for you: a request from the Black Hand."

Velvet's eyes widened, "Really? They don't often make requests, but when they do, you usually divert them to another Sanctuary for my safety."

"Well, I can't do that this time, because they requested you personally." Lucien said grimly, handing her a scroll, "Here's the instruction sheet. From what I hear, there might be complications. Make sure to be successful, I know what they do to failures, and I can't bear the thought of having to do that to you."

They embraced, and they parted, not knowing for the last time.

* * *

**A/N: And we know what happened on that mission. So, opinions on my Romance? I don't usually do romantic reveals. I admit, it seems a lot cliche, as well as too fast, but remember, they bond over about 2-4 months. They'd been meeting ever since she'd joined.**

**Oh, and to you people who keep bashing my writing, at least have the guts to not do it as an "Anonymous Review"**

**I hope that this chapter went well for those of you reading :P**


	8. Chapter 7: Dawn Breaks on Battlehorn

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: I'm feeling really optimistic.**

**4 reviews, one story favorite, and two story alert additions! And 84 hits and 40 views in the past two days! (August 18th and 19th)**

**I've got mixed reviews about romance, so it's probably safe to assume that I got some things right, but I do admit that I made their connection seem a bit fast. One must keep in mind that they had been working together for about 4 months, and love does work in mysterious ways (CLICHE).**

**Thanks to Arty and DualKatanas for pointing out things I missed. **

**Because of the questions that have been presented about the color of Velvet's eyes, I will clarify: As opposed to the normal eyes of a Dunmer (black pupils with a red ring around it), Velvet's eyes are like a normal black pupil surrounded by another circle of green, like a normal eye. Dunmer eyes are like the red ring of death for an Xbox 360, Velvet's are like a emerald circle with a black dot at the center (with the white around those, of course).**

**I am now going to write something that I should have written several chapters ago.**

**Read and Review!**

* * *

Chapter 7: Dawn Breaks on Battlehorn

* * *

"Six o'clock of the morning watch and all's well!" a voice yelled, shattering Kelvyn's peaceful dream.

Lord Kelvyn, Master of Battlehorn Castle, grumbled as he rolled out of bed.

As sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning, a knock came at his door. It was Hannah Theloria, his aide.

"My Lord, Caecilius Saramius is here to see you." she said.

"Good, he made it, send him in." said Kelvyn.

Kelvyn dressed in his burgundy linen suit and waited by the windowfor Caecilius to come in.

A tall, armor-clad Imperial Legion Soldier strode in, he walked to Kelvyn and saluted sharply. "Caecilius Saramius reporting for duty as requested, sir," he said briskly.

"Have a seat, Caecilius," Kelvyn gestured to the chair opposite him, and once the man had taken a seat, he continued, "I requested your presence because I have an offer for you. I want you to be the Captain of the Guard here at Battlehorn Castle."

The Imperial looked confused. "Surely there are some more qualified than I am," he said.

"Indeed, but I have seen your file. During training, in the face of insurmountable odds, you managed to construct your team into an unbeatable defensive force."

"I had a good teacher, that is all," Caecilius said calmly.

Kelvyn beckoned, "Come here, Caecilius, have a look."

As the two men approached the window, Kelvyn pointed down at the courtyard, where the men-at-arms were sparring.

"What do you see, Caecilius?" asked Kelvyn.

Kelvyn saw Caecilius's eyes take in the walls, the stairs, the gate, and finally sweep over the soldiers.

"I see soldiers willing to die defending this brilliantly designed fortress, ones that know it better than I do and are more capable of defending it." said Caecilius.

Kelvyn sighed, then said, "You see a leaderless army, a bladeless sword, a headless chicken. None of these men have the knowledge or cleverness to lead, only to follow." he turned his back to the window, striding towards his private library, saying, "They have been wandering around the walls aimlessly since the last full moon, when my guard captain had to take half of Battlehorn's forces to eradicate a werewolf pack harrassing a settlement from a den nearby. You may ask why we took the risk, but as the only military establishment in the entirety of the Colovian Highlands Wilderness, we are obligated to protect the nearby citizens."

Kelvyn sat down at a writing desk, setting up a quill, an inkwell, and a piece of parchment, then looked at Caecilius, saying, "Anyway, on the night of the Werewolf raid, 500 of my men went into that cave to fight 50 of the beasts, 70 came out. They had been successful in killing the werewolves, but to those fifty beasts, JUST FIFTY, I had lost 430 men, including my Guard Captain, Alveroth. Since then, all of my soldiers have either been too traumatized or too cowardly to step up to any leadership position. They spar now only because I ordered them to. Caecilius, we need a soldier with your leadership talents," Kelvyn said while writing on the parchment, "This note will get you anything you require from the forges or armory. You can start at once, or leave and let me try to find another before any more trouble happens locally." Kelvyn handed him the sheet.

Caecilius was speechless. He couldn't just leave these people without a leader, and it would take a week to even get a courier to the Imperial City for a request for a replacement.

"I accept your request, Lord Kelvyn."

2 hours later, Lord Kelvyn was watching the men-at-arms sparring with a will that he hadn't seen for a fortnight.

Caecilius was marching among them in his gleaming new steel armor.

"Good lad, you'll need to be prepared, if the rumors I've heard are true. If they are, Battlehorn will have to go through Oblivion and back by the time we're done.

_20 miles south of Battlehorn Castle_

The Velvet Rogue raised her elven claymore, pointing it north.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Men and Mer, Bandits of all races. Move Out! I want to be at Battlehorn Castle by nightfall!"

The horde raised their countless implements of death and destruction in celebration. The horde, 2,000 strong marched north, for death or glory, but mostly for money.

Aldrein the battlemage watched them go from his hiding spot. Originally, he had thought that this mission of watching the bandits would come for nothing, despite it being the largest bandit gathering in over 50 years. Archmage Traven had been correct, The Velvet Rogue was a threat. He had to warn Battlehorn, or The Colovian Highlands would burn. He wrote the warning on a scroll, summoned his eagle familiar, secured the scroll to the leg of the eagle. He sent it on its way to Camdafire, his friend at Battlehorn, she would know to get it to Lord Kelvyn.

The eagle took flight, rising on the thermals, banking north towards Battlehorn.

_20 minutes later_

Fires-His-Arrows-Quickly raised his amber eyes, from watching the bandits ahead of him, to the sky. The mysterious eagle had been catching up to them, almost as if it was trying to outrun the horde. He raised his scaly eyebrow. Eagles weren't even native to Cyrodiil, they were only hatched in Argonia, and most of them were used as letter-carriers for Shadowscale commandos.

They couldn't have found him, could they? He couldn't take that chance; he raised his bow, Surestrike, sighting along the arrow's shaft. He let fly the arrow.

300 feet up, the arrow found its mark, the bird familiar screeched in pain, tumbling to the ground, an arrow through its breast. Its message would lay unread in the branches of the trees.

Fires-His-Arrows-Quickly breathed a sigh of relief as the eagle tumbled from the sky, his secret was safe. No one would know his location, the renegade Shadowscale was hidden safely again.

At the head of the column, Velvet rode atop her fearsome steed, Sunburst. Beside her rode Rhesus on his black stallion, Helen on her gray mare, with Starlight and Shadow riding white and black horses, respectively.

A grim look crossed Velvet's face. Some would die, she knew that, it was inevitable of war. She just hoped that those closest would survive.

* * *

**A/N: To tell the truth, that last part with Velvet's grim look, I didn't know how to end the chapter, so I just put that. When I rewrite this story, i'll probably come up with a better ending. I did get to use 5 of the names that Arty gave me, though, so :D. Recognize them, Arty?**

***post submission correction: Vampires can travel during the day, providing that they drink blood within 24 hours of the travel. In the game, 24 hours w/o blood = stage 1 vampirism=sun damage, with each progressive day that passes, it gets worse. Helen, having a large horde from which to suck blood secretly (the horde doesn't know her true nature), she can travel any time she wants. Sucking blood does not automatically cause death, like in the game, you can suck blood w/o killing.***

**I'd actually like to take a moment to recognize all you loyal viewers, readers, reviewers, and supporters. It is you that have inspired me to write these stories. Even now, I am writing to approach a milestone, 10,000 words in The Fall of Kelvyn. I reach that milestone with this word here.**


	9. Chapter 8: Strangers in the Night

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn **

By Commentaholic

**A/N: Oh what a month it's been! Almost 400 hits and 200 views, and as of the day I'm writing this, 16 reviews! It is not good to toot one's horn, so I won't.**

**Even though less than like 10% of "viewers" reviewed, I'm still happy for the followers I have, and I'd like to recognize the most loyal ones now:**

**ArtyThrip, Dualkatanas, both of you were loyal before I really felt any confidence about my writing, and have helped bolster my writing skills. You helped me create characters when I drew a blank. I'm not ashamed to admit it, I can't think up character names easily to save my life, and you saved me from that. The others that also reviewed but are not listed here, I also thank you for your reading and reviewing.**

**I'd also like to apologize for taking so long to update. Between school, the desire for a nice long revealer chapter, and a vicious bout with writer's block, I just couldn't finish it fast enough for my usual pace.**

**Read and Review!**

* * *

Chapter 8: Strangers in the Night

* * *

_Velvet strode through the camp towards the bonfire in the outskirts._

_They had been forced to take an unexpected detour around the site of a landslide. This delay had cost them half a day, and Velvet had made the call to set up camp for the night._

_As Velvet neared the fire, she spotted two eyes reflecting the flickering fire from the shadows. She sat down next to Helen, who was bundled up in a cloak against the wind. When on the march, Helen always isolated herself to deny her blood thirst the opportunity to overcome her after she drank enough to sate her vampiric nature. Velvet knew the isolation was for the safety and well-being of her adopted family and home, but she still missed Helen's presence during her own evening meals._

_"Helen, aren't you going to join us for dinner?" inquired Velvet. Helen didn't answer, only shook her head slowly, her eyes still mirroring the dancing flames. Velvet knew what was going through her mind, it was always the same thing, she was lost in the memories of an event years past, back to the time she wished that she could forget. She couldn't, though, because of the mysterious stranger who had stolen, yet saved her life. He had taken her family from her. Worst of all that he stole, perhaps, was her heart, kindling a love that could never exist, not after what had happened. Helen still loved him, though. She still loved that dark-clothed man, that hunter of the night: that Vicente Valtieri._

* * *

Morrowind Wilderness, 137 years earlier.

The dust clouds lingered over the Ashland terrain, the only remaining sign of the severe sandstorm that had ravaged the area. A ruined cart, its cloth covering whipping around in the violent winds, was lit from within.

Inside the wreckage of the cart, a Breton family huddled, waiting for the father to return.

Separated from the rest of the caravan en route to Vivec from the Breton settlement north of Balmora. They had rolled along until they had taken a tumble down a cliff. It was a wonder they hadn't died, but they had not gotten away without injury.

When the cart tumbled, the occupants had been tossed around, the majority of them saved by the sheer number of packs. The one that had been injured had been thrown from the cart when it had crashes to a stop. Her head had impacted on a stone. She was lucky to be alive, even if only just barely.

The 16-year old daughter, her face covered in dried blood from a gash on her forehead, stirred. "Mother?" she called weakly.

"I'm here," the mother whispered to her, worry etched into her features, "What is it? Do you need something?"

"Where's dad? Has he returned yet?" the daughter asked.

"No, but I'm sure he'll be back soon with help, I know it." said the mother, "Now, sleep, you need the rest."

The daughter fell back on the blankets, slipping back into unconsciousness.

Looking out the gap in the canvas cart cover, the mother said, "Please get back soon, Frederic, Helen can't last much longer."

* * *

3 miles away, Frederic stumbled up a dune, shoulder braced against the wind, searching for a settlement.

_Any settlement_, he thought, _even a Dunmer camp._

He scanned the horizon for any sign of life, not that he could see much through the swirling dust along the dunes. Frederic's heart leapt when he glimpsed a flicker of light in the distance.

_Finally_, he thought, _civilization!_

He trudged in the direction of the light, only to find that the source of it was a fire in front of a large stone structure, boxlike in shape. Apart from the fire, the place looked deserted, though. Disappointment set in as he realized that there probably wouldn't be much help to be found here, but he entered, if only to get out of the wind. He hauled open the heavy wooden door, slipped inside, then pushed it shut, slumping against the wood once inside. Then he examined his surroundings. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed the building's lone inhabitant.

A vampire, a Breton by the look of it, lay stretched out, asleep, on a granite pedestal. It was in a dark shirt and brown pants. His hair, tied up in a smooth rogue's knot, lay like obsidian upon the cold grey stone.

The face, however, set it apart from the normal vampires one would find in Morrowind. His face, instead of the normal pale skin, was filled with color. In fact, the only things that warned Frederic of the man being a vampire was the cross-armed sleeping position and the slightly ajar mouth that revealed long, razor-sharp fangs.

Frederic slowly picked himself up off the floor, not making a sound. He turned to open the door, and was trying to lift the latch when he heard a voice from behind.

"Leaving so soon?"

Frederic turned around slowly. The vampire stood right behind him, standing passively with his arms behind his back.

"Do stay; I so rarely have company. What brought you this way?" the vampire asked, a cold grin crossing his face. His eyes glowed. Frederic knew enough about illusion magic to recognize a Command Humanoid spell when he saw it, tried to run, but found that he couldn't move.

Suddenly his mouth started speaking without Frederic wanting to, spilling all he knew about how he'd gotten in this predicament.

Ten minutes later, the vampire rose from the floor, where lay a pale Frederic LeBlanc, his glazed eyes casting an unseeing gaze towards the ceiling. Two pinpricks dripped blood from their place on Frederic's neck.

"Terribly sorry, took too much. A family, though, eh?" said the vampire, "It shall be good to feast so well after so long."

The vampire stood and walked to the door, pulling the heavy wood open with little effort. His dark form disappeared into the swirling sands.

* * *

Back at the cart, Helen's condition had worsened, her mother and brother did what they could, but until they got help, there was only so much they could do, all their medical supplies had been with the lead cart in the caravan.

The mother dabbed a wet cloth on Helen's burning forehead.

A figure appeared in the gap in the canvas, a silhouette against the sandstorm outside.

"Thank the Nine, Frederic, did you find help?" said the mother.

"I am not Frederic, but he sent me. He would have made the return journey but he was... spent from his exertions." said a voice with a rich Breton accent. The figure stepped into the light, "But where are manners, my name is Vicente Valtieri. I brought healing supplies, they're outside in my pack, I..." his eyes finally caught sight of Helen. His eyes widened, she was beautiful. Vicente recovered quickly from his shock. "Oh dear, he said, "it is worse than what Frederic told me of her injury, but it has been worsened by infection. Boy!" he said sharply.

Helen's brother looked up.

"Get up and go out to my horse and bring back the large black bag on the left side. Hurry!"

The boy hopped up and ran outside, he came back a few moments later with a heavy black bag.

"Good lad," Vicente took the bag, placing it beside Helen, next to where he knelt, feeling her forehead. He reached into the bag, pulling his hand out grasping a small vial of potion. He uncorked the bottle and trickled it gently down Helen's throat. She coughed some of it up, but kept most of it down. Vicente then turned his attention towards the gash on her forehead. He reached into his bag again, this time pulling out a strip of linen; he soaked this linen strip in a basin of potion and laid it upon the injury. Helen stirred, and Vicente held her down. "Still, child, stay still. I know it hurts, but the pain should fade momentarily." he said soothingly, "Now rest a moment, the potion needs time to mend injuries such as this."

Vicente stood and faced Helen's mother, who was thanking him, tears of joy streaming down her face. Vicente excused himself, and walked outside.

_This_, he thought to himself, _is getting complicated._

His usual plan for his forays out to the caravan route usually only involved taking blood from the unassuming traders, then making his getaway. Never before had he had second thoughts about his scheme. Then again, he'd never been discovered in his lair, nor had to get too involved with his victims. Most of all, he'd never, in his 163 years of vampirism, ever fallen in love with one of his victims.

He looked sideways through the gap in the canvas. Her name was Helen, or so her father had said so briefly before his demise. He saw now why her father had braved the treacherous sandstorms and rocky terrain to find help. If not for the injury, which would heal, she would be beautiful beyond compare. She had lightly tanned skin, which accentuated her high cheekbones. Her hair, now in a wild tangle, was a rich color of brown. Although young, she had beauty that many women dreamed of, but would never obtain.

Vicente, for the first time in many years, felt regret at what he had to do now.

_Wait_, he thought, _there is a way._

After some thought, he made his way into the tent, kneeling at her side. He felt her soft cheek, then her forehead, after lifting the strip of linen. "The fever has subsided," Vicente said with relief, "and the gash in her forehead is almost healed. Now, may I have a word with you outside, Mrs. LeBlanc." He strode outside, her following him. When he arrived at his horse, he stopped and turned back to Helen's mother.

"Helen is stable for the moment," Vicente said, "but she needs a special kind of treatment in order to recover fully. This treatment will take a few days, and will need to be done at my house nearby. We will return when she has recovered. That is, if you agree to allow me to treat your daughter."

Mrs. LeBlanc glanced back to the cart, uncertainty written across her features.

Vicente knew what she was thinking and said quickly, "I will be able to supply shelter and supplies for you and your son for the duration of the treatment. After she has recovered, I will also supply transport to the nearest town."

Mrs. LeBlanc's features relaxed, "Of course, Mr. Valtieri. I want Helen to be healthy again, do what you must."

Vicente said, "I will take her to my home, and return to you with supplies, and to lead you to shelter."

An hour later, Vicente laid Helen gently down on a bedroll. He said, "Stay here, Helen, I will be back after I finish with helping your family." He then went back out into the sandstorm. Helen barely registered his departure.

* * *

Helen awoke feeling better than she had in a while; certainly better than she had before the accident. She sat up, looking around for her family.

A tall, handsome Breton man with black hair walked in, carrying a tray of tea. "Ah, you've woken, right on schedule." He said, smiling.

"Who are you?" asked Helen, taking the mug of tea he offered her. This man was being unusually kind, not that she minded. He was rather good looking after all, and she rather enjoyed being cared for.

"You do not remember? I am Vicente Valtieri, the man who saved your life after you were injured in that terrible cart accident. This is the first time you have been truly awake for about 3 days, so I can understand your confusion."

Three days? She wondered what had been going on since the accident, for she could not remember coming here, for sure. The last thing she remembered was feeling a cool cloth on her forehead. She reached up to her head, feeling for the gash, but feeling no indication that she'd ever been injured.

"Where's my family?" Helen asked, wondering why her mother hadn't come in, if her waking up was expected.

Vicente's smile sagged a little, "I'm sorry, but before I arrived back at the cart to help them come here, they had already been attacked by raiders. Your father killed himself out of grief shortly after. Your entire family is dead. They are buried outside." Vicente said the last phrase somberly, his face filled with sadness.

Helen clambered off the bedroll, heading for the door. She couldn't accept this, they couldn't be dead.

Vicente stopped her just short of the door. "I'm sorry," he said, "but you can't go outside right now."

Helen stared at him strangely, "What do you mean I can't go outside? I have to know for sure! They couldn't have died; they were all skilled in defensive magic." She tried to pull away towards the door latch.

Vicente determinedly held her arm tightly. "You cannot leave because of your condition. In order to save you, I had to use…unorthodox methods," he said slowly.

"What the hell does that mean?" Helen said, beginning to think that Vicente might just be slightly insane.

"Do I have to spell it out for you, girl? You're a vampire now! The sun will burn you alive!"

This staggered Helen. A vampire? How?

Vicente held her gently, saying, "I know, it's a lot to take in all at once. It was the same for me."

He was a vampire? He had to have infected her! The image she had of him as a kind, handsome man suddenly vanished, replaced by a picture of him stooping over a sleeping figure, drinking its blood.

She pushed him away, "Get away, freak! Why'd you infect me, anyway?"

Vicente stepped closer again. "Helen, you are special. In all my years, I have never met someone that I dared have feelings for."

Now he was coming on to her? This man had the nerve to make her a vampire without her consent, and then try to seduce her?

Helen and Vicente avoided each other for a few weeks after that. Helen, of course, couldn't travel easily because she didn't know where to go, Vicente refused to show her the way to the nearest town. Vicente somehow always supplied enough blood to keep them looking normal, but Helen still fought against her condition. One time, she almost died due to blood starvation, but Vicente managed to save her in time, but wouldn't let her go. He was essentially holding her hostage, a prisoner of her own condition, and a prisoner of her Blood Lord.

_

* * *

_

_The Blood Lord, as defined by the Vivec scholars, is the vampire that creates another vampire. The new vampire is naturally subservient to the Blood Lord, and will die if the Blood Lord is defeated and killed. This live-die relationship is very dangerous to Vampire Clans, and has led them to the endangered existence they now live. It is very rare to find a vampire without a Blood Lord, and there are only two ways that they emerge: one way is that those that are bound to a Blood Lord free themselves by their own willpower, which is a rare event due to their natural subservience. The other way is that they were banished by their clan, an equally rare event; as the clans usually kill any that deserve banishment. Blood Lords are usually the ancient vampires that have been around for an average of 1000 to 2000 years. Those that have survived that long are old, but no less powerful than any other vampire._

* * *

Helen's policy of avoiding Vicente lasted about 2 months. Eventually, it became almost unbearable to live without anyone to talk to, and so they started conversing occasionally.

Helen learned of Vicente's origins, how he'd almost been killed by the Selenu vampire clan. He had apparently hunted in a rival clan's territory, almost causing war between the clans. He had escaped and had been living as a nomad until finding his current home and making it livable. She also learned of the benefits of vampirism. While making her an outcast as one of the undead, she gained strength under the stars, and had the ability to charm anything with a weak will.

Vicente, in turn, learned more about her. Helen had grown up in the settlement north of Balmora. The Breton settlement was a close-knit group that always went to market together, leaving behind a group of warriors to defend the settlement while they were away. Helen told him of her life, her friends, and her neighborhood. She even told him of her favorite foods, and of course, he endeavored to prepare them, even with their meager resources. Once a week, Vicente went to town to get supplies, but only during the day, so that Helen couldn't follow. Even though their relationship had improved, he still didn't trust her not to run off. Helen didn't know how he was able to travel during the day, even though his vampirism was more advanced than hers.

Over the period of about 4 years, Helen and Vicente grew close, although Helen would always deny it. They eventually went into town together, Vicente would still keep an eye on her, but she never ran off. Her family eventually left her mind, replaced by her growing love for the vampire that had saved her back on that gloomy night.

This love lasted until that one fateful day, when their relationship shattered.

* * *

Helen and Vicente were in the city again, walking together, holding hands. They perused the miscellaneous foods in the stalls. They continued in this fashion until they came to a stall that looked a little familiar to Helen.

It was a stall from her hometown. The stall owner recognized her, despite her maturing due to vampirism.

"Helen? It is you! Thank the Nine; we thought that you'd died with the rest of your family! When we came back around to look for your cart, you were nowhere to be found! What was left, though," he shuddered, "was terrible. What was strange was that, although it was obvious that there was an attack, there was no blood spilt. It was almost as if the killer had been careful to not shed any blood."

Helen stood, frozen and wide-eyed. In all her history lessons from Vicente, she only knew of one predator, man or beast that killed in that fashion: The Vampire.

Vicente tried to hush the man, pleading that such talk was dredging up terrible memories.

The implications of this revelation finally hit Helen full force. She pulled free of his hand. He looked at her with a strange look on his face, one she hadn't seen since he had told her that her family was dead. Helen took off through the streets, ignoring Vicente's cries for her to stop, to listen to his explanation. He had killed her family; she didn't know why she hadn't thought of it sooner. She had been blinded by his kindness and their shared nature. She had been fooled, not realizing how dependent she had been on his knowledge of her condition.

She suddenly felt a strong urge to return to him; and knowing this was the Blood Bond, almost gave up, thinking that it was hopeless. Whether or not Vicente was sorry, their relationship was ruined forever; she could never look at him the same way again.

She had almost turned back when she realized that she had made the choice to turn back. She'd been so lost in her thoughts of hopelessness that she hadn't realized that she had a choice.

"Helen? Please, come here." Vicente said from the side alley's entrance in front of her, "I apologize for what happened back then. I just couldn't let you slip away."

"How could you?" Helen said, tears of sorrow and of rage filled her eyes, "How could you slaughter my family and then lie to me?"

"Ignorance is better than exposure to the terrible truth." Vicente said calmly, regret veiled behind his eyes, "Helen, please forgive me. I love you."

Helen, despite her former feelings for Vicente, turned and ran, expecting him to chase after her. To her surprise, he didn't, only stood there sadly, watching her run away from him.

For the next 120 years, Helen roamed the land between Morrowind and Cyrodiil, searching for meaning to her life after Vicente. She eventually met a young girl named Velvet, the rest is history.

And although she outwardly harbored resentment and hostility towards Vicente; inside, she still cherished those years of her life she spent with that tall Breton from the wastes of Morrowind.

* * *

**A/N: Well, longest chapter yet, I kind of wanted to go for more than about 3700 words, but as DualKatanas says, "It ends when it ends"**

**Anywho, as recently revealed in ArtyThrip's recent story update, this is my own version of Helen's history, and the real backstory is the story of the vampire altmer. I have to tell you, it is kind of hard to keep the years consistent when dealing with a lifespan as long as Helen's.**

**It was also hard enough to find a way to get them to meet; even more so to find a way to ruin their relationship. As I have so blatantly advertised, my romance skills stink, so if you think it went too fast, or too slow, or too corny, please keep it to yourself, I already know :P.**

**I'd also like to apologize for the terrible quality of the breakup, I kind of wanted to bring in someone from Helen's past, but couldn't find a way to break it to her gently.**

**I hope that I didn't keep you story alerts waiting for the update, school's been interfering with my writing schedule.**

**Also, for those wondering, that little entry I put in defining Blood Lords was all mine. I made it all up, so don't quote me if you ever run into a situation containing a vampire patriarch.**


	10. Chapter 9, Part 1: Of Might and Magic

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: A new month calls for a new chapter! It also calls for conflict. It also might call for a change in gears, so I might finish off my other story, A Dark Minion's Diary, fairly soon. Most of you loyal readers know how much I hate shifting in the middle of something, but I have finally convinced myself that it needs to be finished. A reader of that story has finally expressed interest in how the cliffhanger turns out! Surprising, I know! Of course, with the picking up of one story, another must be dropped, so I'll try to avoid a cliffhanger for this story. It'll be hard though, even now I can see the end of this chapter in my mind as a cliffhanger. I'll try not to make it too suspenseful.**

**Read and review!**

_Chapter 9: Of Mages and Necromancers_

* * *

The sun rose lazily over Battlehorn Castle. The steel-clad men-at-arms patrolled slowly along the walls, awaiting the end of their shifts.

In her room, the Altmer druid, Camdafire, slumbered. All of a sudden, she opened her eyes, looking alarmed.

On the walls, Caecilius watched the sun rise over the hills in the distance. It looked like it would be a beautiful day, yet something was making him uneasy. The door to the gatehouse behind him banged open. He whipped around, seeing the castle's resident magician, Camdafire. He relaxed, chiding himself for jumping at shadows.

What was she doing in the gateroom?

Caecilius then remembered that one could reach the west wing of the castle, the living quarters, through a trapdoor in the gatehouse. She must've walked up here. Caecilius was about to ask what her purpose here was.

It was only then that Caecilius noticed the panicked look on the druid's face.

"What's wrong, Camdafire? You look scared," Caecilius asked, reaching out to comfort her. She shrugged off his arm and strode to the edge of the battlements, looking intently across the plain in front of the fortress.

Caecilius stepped up beside her, glancing nervously at her, almost expecting her to jump, and preparing to catch her. That was when he noticed her eyes. Her normally ocean-blue eyes were completely misted over. Caecilius immediately knew that magic was involved, and looked out over the walls once more. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but then again, he'd never been particularly sensitive to the magical world.

Camdafire was suddenly engulfed in a green aura, causing Caecilius to leap back in alarm, almost tumbling backwards off the walls, saved by the nearby Man-at-arms. Righting himself, Caecilius looked back towards Camdafire. The druid was slowly raising her arms, pointing her hands towards the distant meadow. Her voice, usually musical and light, whispered out in a deep, echoing voice. Arcane symbols etched themselves in mid-air, swirling around the small figure of the Altmer spellcaster.

Then the glowing symbols swirled to her hands, collected into a yellow mist, and shot out in all directions, sweeping towards the horizon. The guard captain at her side was struck dumb with awe.

The druid suddenly crumpled. Caecilius yanked himself out of his stupor, quickly grabbing her before she toppled off the battlements. He summoned the castle healer, then as he waited for the healer to arrive, he happened to glance up past the gap in the stone walltops. His eyes widened. He called for the nearest man-at-arms. "Go get Lord Kelvyn, NOW!"

"My Lord! We are under siege!" shouted a voice at the door to Lord Kelvyn's bedchambers.

Kelvyn's chair toppled from his rapid departure as he quickly stood from his desk and ran to the door, throwing it open.

"What? Who?" he asked the man-at-arms who stood there breathing heavily after his rapid sprint from his patrol on the battlements.

"Unknown, My Lord, but they must have surrounded the walls under cover of darkness. The reason we haven't seen them before now is due to an illusion spell." the man-at-arms wheezed out.

"What stopped the spell?" Kelvyn inquired, gesturing that they proceed to the walls.

"The druid Camdafire, my lord." the soldier replied, "She dispelled the illusion and then collapsed. She would have toppled off the wall if Caecilius had not caught her."

"And where is she now?" asked Kelvyn, a concern bringing his usually cheerful attitude crashing down.

"She's under the care of the castle healer. Praelios believes that the spell drained her magicka reserves, but she should be battle ready by nightfall." the soldier said as they arrived at the door to the walltop. The soldier opened the door for Lord Kelvyn, who strode to the battlements, looking at the great mass of what appeared to be an army of bandits poised to ravage his land. At the center of the formation nearest to the castle gate, Kelvyn could see a large tent, presumably that of the leader of the horde.

Caecilius stepped up beside Kelvyn, saying, "I have taken the liberty of ordering the garrison to gear up for combat, My Lord."

"Good, good," said Kelvyn, "Apologies, Captain. It seems as though we'll be needing your skills earlier than I expected. Though, it appears that we are at a bit of a disadvantage."

"Indeed, My Lord, but numbers do not win battles," Caecilius said.

"I'm sure they help, though," murmered Kelvyn.

Meanwhile, in the command tent of The Velvet Rogue...

Velvet's ears perked up when she started hearing the rustle of armor and calls to defensive positions. Well, she'd been about to reveal themselves anyway.

"Helen, it would seem as though they've dispelled your barrier of illusion," Velvet said to her vampire friend. Helen smiled, leaning back in the chair she was sitting in on the other side of the map table.

"It would seem as though my spell did the trick though. At least I'll have a challenge when it comes to magic once we breach the walls," said Helen.

"Speaking of breaching the walls," Velvet said, "When does the ballista arrive from Blackwood?"

Rhesus stepped forward, "It has been delayed, of course. Moving a war machine past Imperial Legion patrols isn't easy, even for people with the resources that Black Brugo has. I have, however received a courier saying that it should arrive in 2 days."

"By that time, we'll be inside, if everything goes according to plan with Starlight and Shadow's mission," Velvet said, "but it does help to have a backup plan."

Helen and Rhesus looked towards the two Argonians standing in the corner. Velvet had kept their part in her strategy a secret, but Helen wasn't too worried. Velvet had proven herself years earlier as a clever tactitian and a very capable warrior. If Velvet trusted the two silent Argonians, then Helen trusted them, too.

Rhesus obviously did not share this trust, because he stepped closer to the pair. The Argonians tensed slightly, their only outward acknowledgement of Rhesus's presence.

Rhesus's eyes narrowed, regarding them closely. "And what exactly is their mission? I would prefer to know what sort of people I'm working with. I've had too much experience with shady characters than I would care to recount, and not all of it ended well," Rhesus said, crossing his arms pointedly. Helen realized that Rhesus was the only one in the tent without knowledge of the pair's origins, she silently cursed herself for not informing him.

Velvet stepped between the Redguard and two Argonians, saying, "Rhesus, I know why you're distrustful, but we should not be warring amongst ourselves when another war is just outside. We must be united in our venture. These Argonians have only assisting us in our goal in mind, trust me, I give you my word."

Rhesus's gaze softened slightly, and he said, "If you say so, Velvet. I'll go get the troops ready for the assault."

Rhesus strode out of the tent. Velvet inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Starlight, would you kindly sheath your blade." said Velvet. Helen then heard the muffled rasp of metal.

Velvet said, "Helen, would you ready the hedge wizards for battle, please? We will need all of the weapons in our arsenal at full strength."

Helen inclined her head and left the tent. Helen sent a messenger to round up the magic users. Until they were gathered, she would have a word with Rhesus.

In the Quartermaster's tent, Helen entered to find Rhesus mending what looked to be an aged ebony shield with his back to the door. Helen knew this to be a nervous habit of his, and decided to investigate.

Helen cautiously asked, "Rhesus? Is everything okay?"

Rhesus glanced over his shoulder, and then turned back toward the shield. "Helen, shouldn't you be preparing the magicians for battle like you usually do?" Rhesus said in a voice that made it clear that his mind wasn't really on his task.

Helen approached Rhesus and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Rhesus, I may not know you as well as Velvet does, but I know enough to know that you're hiding something. What do you have against those two Argonians?"

Rhesus looked up from his work, "It's not against those Argonians, it's against the evil they emanate. The last time I met someone with that aura, I ended up in an agreement that made me do things that I deeply regret. What happened then was... Well, let's just say that you wouldn't have recognized me had you seen me back then."

Helen leaned back in the nearby chair, what could have happened to make even Rhesus scared to mention it?

Rhesus finished mending his shield, placed it on a stand in the corner, and turned toward the display that held his suit of armor. Helen froze at the sight of the strange device on it, a red skull sitting atop a bloody scepter, the mark of the necromancers. She hadn't seen that mark in years, not since they'd met Rhesus. Helen turned to Rhesus, about to ask why he would have that mark on his shield after all these years, when a messenger called from outside.

"Mistress LeBlanc! The mages are ready for you."

Helen bid Rhesus farewell, then left, the question still nagging at her mind.

Once Helen left, Rhesus doubled over, clutching his chest. He staggered over to his bed, reaching underneath it, and pulling out a small chest. Opening it with a complex-looking key, Rhesus reached inside and drew out a piece of parchment. Rhesus read from it, felt his magicka level plummet, and a glow engulfed his form.

Outwardly, nothing changed. Inside his abdomen, however, muscles were knitting together, intestines moving back into place, decaying flesh smoothed over and became whole.

The glow subsided and Rhesus collapsed onto his bed, chest heaving.

"That was too close," Rhesus gasped out, his teeth still gritting with the pain of near-death once again, "Saved by the messenger."

Rhesus rose slowly to his feet, wincing. Sometimes he regretted being brought back by that necromancer. The grave injustice done to Rhesus would never be forgiven. Or forgotten.

**-To be Continued in Part 2-**


	11. Chapter 9, Part 2: Of Necromancers, too

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**Chapter 9, Part 2**

* * *

Rhesus, Veteran of the Arena; renowned warrior of fortune, lay dying in the Arena sands at the foot of a towering figure.

"You... fought well... brother of... battle," Rhesus slurred through the blood pooling in his mouth. A stream of sanguine liquid spilled from his cracked lips, sliding down his cheek past his smashed nose.

"As did you, worthy opponent," rumbled the Orc Spellsword, Gorgoth gro-Kharz, "Malacath will watch over your soul."

The Orc eased Rhesus's sword into the dying Redguard's hand. Rhesus gazed up at the sky, a pained smile crossing his features.

The sun shone through drifting clouds, birds soared across the pale blue sky. _Strange_, Rhesus thought, _I've never truly appreciated the beauty of the sky._

His final thought, as he breathed his last, was of a single word: _Tierra_...

* * *

Rhesus's soul was suddenly ripped from its resting place in the endless plane of eternity. Rhesus's body screamed for air. The Redguard inhaled a massive breath to save himself from his deprived lungs. He lay gasping on the cold stones that he had awoken on, until he realized that someone was crouching next to him. This someone was wearing a dark robe, his face shrouded in darkness. Rhesus's instincts kicked in as he reached for his sword, only to find it missing from its scabbard. His torso exploded in agony, and he rolled around, thrashing on the floor until, with a few words from the cloaked figure, the pain eased.

"You should lay still, the spell isn't finished mending the damage from that vicious slash in your abdomen," said the figure in a deep voice.

Rhesus then remembered everything: The battle, the injuries, passing into the peacefulness of death. But how was he still alive? "How is this possible?" Rhesus said hoarsely.

"I have rescued you from the dullness of death, that you may serve my purposes. It would have been a waste for such a fine warrior as you to simply lie rotting here in the sewer beneath the bloodworks!" said the voice, almost as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

A chill crept up Rhesus's spine. A Necromancer… Rhesus had met several of them in his years of adventuring before his time in the Arena, and knew what they were capable of, and that their intentions were never truly charitable.

"H-How long have I been lying here?" asked Rhesus in a raspy voice as he felt a new wave of pain sweep through his chest.

"If the Arena records are to be believed, you've been rotting here for almost 8 weeks. It's uncertain, though. Much information was lost when the Imperial Archives went up in flames when the hordes of Oblivion invaded the city," replied the necromancer, "It has taken about a week to restore you to this state. Normally, my people just bring back the skeleton or rotting corpse, but I saw your battle with the Orc. I knew your experience was too good to go to waste. Now, you should sleep until my spell is finished."

Rhesus's eyes fluttered as the compulsion to fall asleep became overwhelming. His last thought before he succumbed to sleep was a single question: What will happen now?

Rhesus awoke after what felt like an eternity. Before opening his eyes, he used his ears to gather what information he could about his surroundings. He was lying on a bedroll in a cave, he knew that much from the telltale drip-drip of water. He also heard the rustle of parchment off to the side. Rhesus opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the sound. The necromancer sat at a table nearby, writing in a journal. Ancient scrolls lay scattered upon the desk at which the stranger wrote. The necromancer's hood was now resting upon his shoulders, revealing his features in the flickering candlelight. Behind him, against the wall, leaned several wooden coffins, recently vacated. A library lined the opposite wall, stacked high with books and alchemical equipment.

The Altmer glanced towards Rhesus, and seeing that the Redguard was awake, rose and knelt next to the bedroll. The necromancer began to examine Rhesus, and after some coaxing, got Rhesus to remove the bandages that encased his lower chest.

The wound was gone. Rhesus stared at where he knew he had been fatally wounded, yet couldn't find a trace of the knife wound.

"Good, the spell has run its course. I was afraid it wouldn't take, as I usually only use it on the recently deceased," said the Altmer.

"I never asked your name," said Rhesus.

"Ah, right! Forgive my poor manners, I am Celedaen, a scholar of the dark arts, and as I'm sure you've figured out, a necromancer of prodigious skill," the Altmer boasted.

"Necromancy's illegal, didn't you know that?" Rhesus said weakly.

"Are you complaining, Redguard? I could undo my spell, if you wish."

Rhesus raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Sorry, I'm not used to being resurrected."

"Understandable, you are unaccustomed to the ways of my people. That ignorance will pass soon enough," Celedaen said, almost in a foreshadowing manner.

Over time, Rhesus was coached through his recovery by the necromancer. He needed to learn how to assert control over his body, now that it was magically maintained. Until he was completely recovered, Rhesus would be of no use to Celedaen. Rhesus began to recover, yet made no attempt to leave due to the Altmer's hospitality. Celedaen did his best to limit Rhesus's chronic pain caused by the resurrection spell weakening. The necromancer created a spell that had to be administered every three days. The frequency that the spell needed to be administered at was inconvenient, but a necessity, or else Rhesus's entrails would seep out through a rapidly appearing and very familiar wound.

A few weeks later, Rhesus walked through the corridor leading from Celedaen's study to the necromancer's ritual chamber. He was particularly proud that he could make it from the study to the ritual chamber without losing his breath; it was a sign that his recovery was almost complete. Rhesus opened the door to the necromancer's room, only to duck under a book as it flew through the door. Celedaen had obviously run into some trouble with his research. Celedaen was disgruntled often nowadays, because it seemed as though the research material that he'd been following had suddenly been nearly impossible to find. Weeks went by between discoveries now, and it seemed that the trail of knowledge had finally faded, lost forever.

Rhesus peered around the door, looking for Celedaen. The room was in disarray, a drastic change from Celedaen's usual tidiness. The Altmer himself was curled up close to the opposite wall, his back against a pedestal containing a skull, a few vials of blood, and a daedra heart obtained from the body of a fallen Dremora Kynvall in the days following the daedric invasion of the Imperial City. Something devastating had to have happened to prompt Celedaen to ransack his inner sanctum.

Rhesus cautiously made his way toward Celedaen, keeping an eye out for more flying pieces of literature. An acrid scent permeated the air. Celedaen was sobbing uncontrollably into his arms. Rhesus then saw the reason for this breakdown. On the floor a few feet away, a bottle that had previously contained a special elixir lay shattered on the stone floor. The vial had contained Celedaen's life's work. Made from painstakingly gathered ingredients from all over Cyrodiil, many rare or extinct, the elixir was irreplaceable. Some of the ingredients had even had to be bartered for on the border of Black Marsh in exchange for valuable magic relics. This was a huge setback in the Altmer's quest. Celedaen hadn't seen fit to tell Rhesus what his goal was, but Rhesus knew obsession when he saw it. Rhesus also could recognize the signs of a broken man.

Rhesus didn't know what to do. Here was the man to whom he owed his life, but the Redguard didn't know how to fix this latest catastrophe. He spied a book on a small table nearby; it was the book Celedaen had been writing in on the day Rhesus had awoken in Leafrot Cave, The Path of Transcendence. Rhesus stepped around the sobbing Altmer and picked the book up from the table. Notes had been scribbled in the margins, some of it Celedaen's, some of it in an ancient, unrecognizable language. The book was open to a page depicting an elixir that was key to a certain ritual. Rhesus assumed that the elixir it described was the one laying spilled into the thin layer of dirt that coated the cavern's floor.

Rhesus read further in the book, reading about the ritual that Celedaen had been preparing. The book didn't go into much detail on what the outcome would be, only the instructions on how to complete the ritual. Rhesus assumed that the outcome was contained between the pages in the beginning of the book, but that wasn't important right now. Rhesus was reading the book to try to find a solution to this new problem in order to repay the man who had given him a second chance at life.

Aha, this is it, thought Rhesus, finding a page speaking of an alternate path of action that would wind up producing the same result that the elixir would have created. On the page were sketches of different containers and vessels, with a list of enchantments to be placed on it next to the pictures. At the top of the page were two words: Soul Transference.

Once shown this page of the tome, Celedaen became elated. A few days later, he was back to his normal self, researching everything he could find on the topic of Soul Transferences.

A week later, Celedaen called Rhesus into the ritual chamber. Rhesus strode down the corridor, opening the door into the cavern. Celedaen was standing at the podium, his back to the Redguard.

"What is it, Celedaen, do you need something?" asked Rhesus.

Celedaen turned, and Rhesus noticed the grin on the Altmer's face. That grin created a chill that crept up Rhesus's spine.

"Rhesus, you know how I've cared for you for the last few months and never asked anything in return other than assistance in minor experiments?" asked Celedaen.

Rhesus didn't like the sound of where this conversation was going, but stood his ground.

"Yes, and I am grateful for it. Is there another errand you need me to run?" Rhesus replied.

"I need you to go to Cadlew chapel and kill ALL the people you find there, capturing their souls in this stone," Celedaen said darkly, handing Rhesus an intricately carved black gem,"the chapel is located east of Bravil. If I find that you spared anyone, I will be most displeased."

The dark gem tumbled from Rhesus's limp fingers as the Redguard's mouth gaped; he had done things to aid the necromancer in his experiments, even extracting deceased bodies from graves and stealing tomes from private estates. Murder was going too far!

"Now, wait just a minute-," Rhesus began.

"Do you wish me to let you die? Without me, you will perish by nightfall, and you cannot hope to find another spell caster in that time. And even if you could, they would not deign to cast a spell that would sustain an undead warrior," Celedaen said, his voice rising in intensity with every sentence.

Rhesus bowed his head, it was hopeless. Disgusted as he was by the action it would require, he could not allow himself to die again until he returned to his wife, Tierra, a guard in the city of Kvatch. They'd met in Anvil, where she'd been working in the Fighter's Guild. At least, she was trying to. The man in charge of Anvil's Fighter's Guild, a Redguard named Azzan, had refused to give her any missions. He claimed that women weren't supposed to fight in battle. This was an ancient, not to mention outdated belief. Rhesus had walked in, carrying a letter from Owyn, the Blademaster of the Arena. Azzan had just finished a heated argument with Tierra when Rhesus had walked into the hall. He'd watched her storm away from Azzan, her short dreadlocks swinging from side to side. Rhesus had never really had time for romance amidst his warrior's lifestyle, but Tierra was perfect. Where Azzan only saw a female Redguard unfit for war, Rhesus saw a fellow fighter, who knew what it was like in the middle of a battlefield. From that moment on, he knew he'd found his soul mate.

After that day, Rhesus had made any excuse to visit Anvil, and Tierra had noticed. After about a month of his "casual" visits, she'd confronted him, and offered him a drink at The Counts Arms. They talked for hours, Tierra envying his freedom to fight, and Rhesus admiring her determination. Over the next few months, Rhesus's schedule permitting, he and Tierra grew close, and eventually married in the Chapel of Dibella. They'd moved to Kvatch, where Rhesus had inherited a sizeable estate. There, they'd lived quite comfortably for a few years, Rhesus fighting in the Kvatch Arena. Two years later, against his wishes, she enlisted in the town guard, insisting that she refused to be supported solely by Rhesus's career in the Arena. The Redguard had finally ceded the victory to her, she was a warrior, and he loved her all the more for it. Tierra may have moved on in the time he'd been dead, but she was still the wind beneath his wings.

"Fine, I'll do it." Rhesus said through clenched teeth.

Celedaen created enough scrolls to maintain Rhesus's life until he returned, making sure to cast the traditional "single-use enchantment" on them. Once they were all tucked away in Rhesus's pack, the Redguard left Leafrot Cave, emerging into the light of the twin moons of Nirn. Masser was full and Secunda was three-quarters full, so there was plenty of moonlight by which to see the trail that wound through the trees. Rhesus hefted his pack, heading southward down the trail. He was going to be in for a long night.

The trip to Cadlew Chapel was fairly uneventful, other than the occasional wolf that would spring from the underbrush on the side of the road. These ambushes ended in failure though, always concluding with the wolf being struck down by Rhesus's steel longsword.

By midmorning, the spire of the chapel appeared over the trees, and Rhesus adjusted his pack so it wouldn't hinder his movements. He had to be prepared for anything.

Rhesus approached the door of the chapel, easing his blade from its sheath as he inched the heavy door open, and peered inside. The foyer was empty, benches were placed in four rows of two along the center of the room, facing the podium and altar at the front of the room.

Rhesus cautiously made his way to the door located in the side wall. The corridor beyond led to the living quarters. In the main room, from which many doors led into bedchambers, he found the clergy.

Gathered around the dining table, sharing an early lunch, there sat 6 monks and a priest. Rhesus quickly ducked into the nearest doorway, and peered around the corner at the group of people.

Rhesus closed his eyes,_ for Tierra_, he said.

Rhesus rounded the corner, brandishing his sword. The blade flashed in the torchlight as it swung towards its target, the nearest monk. The Breton monk had only time to let out a gurgled scream before he slumped over the table, his throat sliced open.

Blood spattered on the wall as Rhesus swung back to strike the next monk, an Imperial, who also fell, the bloody sword slashing his chest open.

The other 4 monks tried to flee, their brown robes whipping around their legs as they made a break for the corridor at Rhesus's back. 2 of them were cut down by a Rhesus's nimble blade. The remaining pair looked at each other, and then at Rhesus, raising their fists in preparation for an attempt to take him down. Rhesus brought his sword up in front of him, angling it toward the monks.

* * *

Glonradan stood on the other side of the room and watched as the Redguard cut down the last two monks with the efficiency of a seasoned warrior. The Redguard looked the Bosmer priest in the eye as he stepped over Antonio's butchered body while Bracius's body toppled to the ground, his head hitting the floor a moment later.

The mysterious swordsman's eyes were the color of ice, and as hard as stone. Glonradan, however, due to years of seeing it in the eyes of sinners, could see regret and pain hidden behind that cold gaze. In that moment, Glonradan had a sudden sense of peace, instead of fear at the coming darkness. His only feeling was pity at the tortured look veiled behind the icy eyes of the Redguard.

The Redguard stepped in front of Glonradan and raised his blade for the final blow. He hesitated when the priest spoke.

"May the Nine Divines forgive you for what you must do," said Glonradan.

The Redguard's blade quivered, it's gleaming steel reflecting flickering torchlight, its edge dripping blood upon the cold stones. At that moment, the Redguard's eyes flickered, showing a sudden look of sorrow. The warrior said, "No, priest, I don't think they will."

The blade fell, blood flowed.

* * *

Rhesus gazed down at the body of the priest, eyes shining moistly in the light of the dying fireplace. He pulled out the faceted jewel given to him by Celedaen, and held it aloft near the center of the room as the necromancer had instructed him to do. The jewel began to glow.

A pale mist began rising from the bloodstained corpses, spiraling towards the center of the room, converging on the dark gem. When all the mist was gone, disappeared into the jewel, Rhesus examined it. It now glowed from within, a cold blue flame flickering inside the jewel's core. Celedaen would have his souls for his project, but Rhesus's soul had paid the price for them. The journey back to Leafrot Cave was the longest trip of Rhesus's life.

Weeks passed, and Rhesus was sent on more errands. Mostly, they were to retrieve artifacts from Ayleid ruins: a welkynd stone here, an ancient scroll there; the only reason Rhesus made it through this time without losing his sanity was the thought of Tierra.

One day, Celedaen told Rhesus to go and make sure that the area around the cave was secure. He told Rhesus that soon, his project would be complete, and all the years of research would pay off at last.

On his way back from the nearby hill, he spotted a horse, as black as night, grazing on a nearby patch of grass. Rhesus picked up his pace. A horse here could only mean one thing, because Leafrot Cave was the only thing worth the trouble for about 10 miles; they had an intruder.

Rhesus hurried back to the cave to warn Celedaen. He rushed through the study, noting the weapons and bones strewn across the floor. Entering the inner sanctum of the cave, Rhesus heard a painful moan, and the clatter of wood and tinkles of broken glass. Rhesus threw open the door to Celedaen's ritual chamber to see a cloaked figure holding _The Path of Transcendence_, standing over a huddled mass of familiar black robes. Every one of Rhesus's instincts screamed at him to engage the dark figure, and Rhesus grasped the hilt of his sword. This action screeched to a halt when the Redguard heard a familiar voice.

"Rhesus..." Celedaen said weakly.

Rhesus, throwing caution to the winds, rushed to Celedaen's side, ignoring the menacing figure, and knelt beside the Altmer, who was as white as a sheet; the necromancer's breathing became shallow. A broken hourglass lay on its side, purple sand spilling into the dirt and stone. Rhesus heard the muted rasp of metal on metal. Rhesus tried to shield Celedaen, but was too slow.

A long, thin blade plunged past Rhesus's vision, angling toward the necromancer. There was a sickening thunk as the blade hacked open the Altmer's rib cage, throwing blood and bits of bone into the air with the force of the blow.

The blade withdrew, then flashed once more, this time it halted at Rhesus's neck, creating a shallow cut. Blood seeped from the wound, joining the blood of Celedaen dripping from the sword's deadly edge. At the other end of the long, slender Elven claymore, the dark figure cocked its head quizzically to the side.

"And who might this be?" a female voice asked, "The contract only mentioned one occupant of the cave."

"Contract", this was one of the mysterious Dark Brotherhood assassins, then. Rhesus had heard of the order of murderers while passing through the Imperial City a few weeks before his last Arena battle. Apparently, a citizen had been arrested for attempting to hire the assassins, but had been apprehended before he could complete the ritual of summoning. If completed correctly, the ritual would prompt the timely arrival of a representative from the Dark Brotherhood, who would negotiate the terms of the murder.

Normally, the rare sight of these silent killers would unnerve even the bravest warrior. Rhesus, however, had nothing to lose. His life, such as it was, would soon end anyway.

Rhesus eyed the cloaked figure, taking note of arm reach, height, and stance. Rhesus closed his eyes for a moment, pondering his next move.

His eyes snapped open; he spun, slapping the blade away with his left hand, dancing backwards in a spinning leap, drawing both his longsword and shortsword once he was clear of the Elven blade's reach.

If the assassin was startled by his sudden resistance, she didn't show it. Green eyes peered out from the the hood, apprising the Redguard. Her only move was to bring her claymore up in front of her, shifting her footing to provide more stability.

They stood, eyes locked, muscles tensed. Rhesus let out a battle scream, lunging forward, spinning around to bring his blades slashing towards the assassin. His strikes, first high, then low, were parried with ease. The woman then spun, hurling her cloak towards the Redguard to momentarily distract Rhesus. By the time Rhesus freed himself from the silky cloth, he only had time to bring his blades up to catch the Elven claymore on them, parrying the downward slash.

Rhesus grunted with the force of the woman's blow, he hadn't counted on her having such strength with such a heavy weapon. Claymores, even Elven ones, were rumored to be powerful, but heavy and unwieldy. He pushed the claymore's blade away, his mind rapidly scrambling to come up with a way out of this situation.

The assassin didn't give him the chance to think of a plan. The woman danced backwards, then to the side, twirling her blade as she did so. The narrow blade of her claymore flashed as she jumped, twirling through the air, twisting so that she tumbled through the air horizontally, with her sword coming down upon Rhesus's blades with a vicious downward force, knocking them from his grasp. As his blades clattered onto the ground, a black leather-clad boot appeared in his vision, colliding with Rhesus's chin, knocking him onto his back a few feet away.

Rhesus shook his throbbing head to clear it, and tried to rise, reaching for his shortsword a few feet away. A boot came down on his outstretched arm, and the bright metal of the assassin's Elven claymore appeared once more at his throat. Rhesus let his head fall back onto the rough-hewn stone floor, exhausted and defeated. He looked up at the woman, glaring defiantly.

"You might as well kill me, assassin, without Celedaen, I'll be dead by morning, anyway." Rhesus said, panting with exhaustion.

"And why is that?" inquired the woman, lowering her sword slightly.

"Only he could cast the spell keeping me alive, and now that he's dead, I will soon pass once more into the Void."

"What do you mean 'again'? Never mind; Helen, get in here!" shouted the woman, pulling her hood back to reveal a young Dunmer woman with purple skin, dark red hair, and the brilliant green eyes the color of emeralds that he'd seen earlier beneath the hood. Their true color was a brighter green than they'd been from beneath the hood. She removed the claymore from Rhesus's throat, sliding it into its sling on her back.

Another figure entered the chamber; this one had its hood pulled back as well. It was a Breton woman, clad in a blue robe, had tousled brown hair, and gleaming red eyes. The eyes were what threw Rhesus off until he noticed her fangs.

Of course, a dark brotherhood assassin WOULD team up with a vampire.

"Velvet, you wouldn't believe the collection of spell books back there-"the Breton that Rhesus assumed to be Helen, began to say.

"Helen, is now really the time? Have a look around here; see if you can find anything about a life-maintaining spell. Lucien mentioned that he needed one if we were ever going to upgrade the Dark Guardians."

"Velvet, what about this guy?" Helen asked, nodding her head toward Rhesus.

"Just go have a look, Helen," Velvet said exasperatedly, "I'll handle the details, but I want to ask this Redguard a few things first."

"Fine, but be careful, Velvet. This he seems like a very capable warrior, I wouldn't take chances with him. For all we know, he could have been that necromancer's bodyguard. He might make a try for revenge."

Helen went back through the door, heading for the late Celedaen's study.

Velvet watched her go, and then turned back towards Rhesus. He hadn't moved, he was amazed to still be alive, even more so that the assassin that had just killed his captor would help him.

Velvet knelt by Rhesus, casting a critical look over him. "So, what's your story?" she asked, "You seem like too good of a warrior to be a necromancer's goon, much less to have died in the first place."

"I met a stronger warrior and lost to him in the Arena, that's all," Rhesus said, "Celedaen there just happened to be in a position to salvage my body from the mudcrabs and rats of the sewers."

"Why was your body in the sewers? Don't they return the bodies of fallen combatants to their loved ones?" inquired Velvet.

"They couldn't be bothered to send me to my wife. To the arena managers, I was only worth their time when I wasalive and fighting." Rhesus said bitterly, "Those ungrateful swine. I give 7 years of my life to that Arena, and the moment I'm dead, they toss me in the sewers." He spat towards the wall from his position on the floor.

"Well, I could offer you a place where your skills would be most welcome. You see, I'm trying to assemble a -" Velvet said, before being cut off by a shout from the other room.

"FOUND IT!" Helen yelled from the study.

Helen staggered back through the door, her face obscured by the stack of scrolls and tomes she was carrying in her arms.

"OOF," she grunted as she bumped into the table before dumping the armful of knowledge across its surface, "this should keep Lucien busy for a while."

Helen looked at Velvet, who had jumped back to her feet while Helen had been distracted, then at Rhesus.

"So, what's the plan with the Redguard?" Helen asked.

Velvet walked over to the pile of scrolls, sifting through them.

Helen crossed her arms, not enjoying being ignored, saying, "Well?"

Only Rhesus saw Velvet slip a couple of the scrolls up her sleeve before turning back to Helen.

"I'll finish him off while you load this stuff onto Shadowmere. I'll take a look for anything of value in the library, then meet you outside." said Velvet.

Helen gathered up the scrolls and books, and with a glance backwards at Velvet, turned and left the cavern.

As soon as Velvet was sure that Helen was outside, she rushed to Rhesus's side.

"Listen, I need you to lay low for a while until I can create one of these that will survive multiple uses," she said hastily, shoving the pilfered scrolls into Rhesus's arms, "use these and wait at Hero Hill until I return. The hill is located about two days' hike southwest from here. There's a little cabin a little ways south of the summit. I'll be there in about a week to collect you."

Velvet offered her hand to Rhesus to help him up. Rhesus hesitated, then grabbed it, and was pulled to his feet with surprising ease by the slender Dunmer.

"I'll explain everything when we meet again, I promise." Velvet said, pulling her hood forward over her head. Rhesus followed her to the library, pointing out the more valuable tomes to support Velvet's story with Helen. She stopped at the door to the forest, turning to Rhesus and giving a small wave of farewell. Then she vanished into the shadows of the trees.

Rhesus knew one thing: if he was ever going to find Tierra again, he'd need Velvet's help. He went back inside and started packing after using one of the scrolls. It was going to be a long journey to the hill through the lonely night, and Rhesus wanted to get an early start.

Rhesus paused next to Celedaen's corpse as he passed through the ritual chamber on his way through from his quarters. Looking down at the dead necromancer, ironic as it was, saddened the Redguard. After all, even though Celedaen had been Rhesus's jailor, the Altmer had also given the Redguard a second chance at life. Rhesus would make the most of his second chance, fragile as it was.

"Goodbye, Celedaen, may you find the peace that my soul will never know." Rhesus said as he shouldered his pack and left Leafrot Cave for the last time.

* * *

**A/N: More to come. This is by no means the end of Rhesus's solitary wanderings.**

**Sorry if the A/N in the first part was confusing, I started writing this chapter on the 2nd of September, feeling obligated to submit a chapter to start the month. It ended up being longer and more complex than I originally intended, so I had to forego the planned Velvet/Kelvyn confrontation. I kinda felt the need to split the chapter into two parts, and my dad agreed. First chapter with actual detailed content and fighting scenes! My dad thought I did well, what do you guys think?**


	12. Chapter 9, Part 3: Scarlet Ambition

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: My most recent chapter put me on the favorite stories list of my most favorite reviewer, Arty Thrip! It also made me get almost 150 hits in the first three days of its release. Reviews were somewhat lacking, but I'm fine with that, as long as my loyal reviewers keep finding my flaws and bringing them to my attention.**

**Before I end this author's note, I'd like to thank all of you who got after me time and again to add more description. When I finally did it, I felt all the more proud of myself. Arty Thrip, Dualkatanas, I thank you both.**

**Commentaholic: Oh, and before I forget!**

***plunges head into a bucket***

**-Resurfaces 2 minutes later-**

**Commentaholic: -gasping for air- I hope you're happy Dualkatanas**

**For explanation, see Brothers in Arms by Arty Thrip, chapter 17 Reviews**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion, sadly, like the other Oblivion fanfiction writers, I am merely a poor imitator. This is probably my second disclaimer, and it's overdue**

**Read and Review!**

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Chapter 9, Part 3: Scarlet Ambition and Past Revelations

* * *

Why am I doing this? Velvet asked herself as she trudged up Hero Hill's treacherous slope. The scorching sun shone down upon the grassy woodlands, making Velvet feel as though she was baking alive inside her dark shrouded armor. In her hurry to depart Fort Farragut that morning, Velvet had snuck out, forgetting to bring a change of clothes. Velvet glared angrily up at the sun, nearly falling as she stumbled over a stone hidden in the tall grass that covered the steep hillside. Returning her gaze to the ground before her, Velvet stepped around a small hole in the ground. For perhaps the twentieth time in the last hour, she cursed not having Shadowmere along. Unfortunately, in order to give Helen the slip, Velvet had been forced to send the loyal horse on a roundabout path to the south.

Ever since the incident in Leafrot Cave, Helen had taken to following Velvet around, keeping an eye on the secretive Dunmer from a safe distance. This, of course, had not been unnoticed by Velvet and had immediately prompted an increase in Shadowmere's pace to the insane rate of speed that the magnificent horse was accustomed to using. Once Velvet was sure that she had escaped Helen's line of sight, she had whispered hurried instructions to Shadowmere. Many would have seen this and questioned Velvet's sanity, but Velvet would stake her life on the fact that Shadowmere was as sentient as any person: Man, Mer, and smarter than most of the Beast Races. In fact, she had staked her life on that fact on multiple occasions. Shadowmere had come in handy many times, ever since Lucien had grudgingly allowed Velvet to use the black, ruby-eyed stallion.

Velvet had slipped from Shadowmere's still-moving form, crossed the sparsely cobbled road, and disappeared into a nearby tree. Shadowmere had disappeared around the bend in the path within a few moments, stones and dirt thrown into the air by the horse's flying hooves. Helen came along a few minutes later, the Breton and her horse both breathing heavily from the effort of keeping up with Lucien's demonic steed.

Helen, spotting Shadowmere's distinctive tri-spiked hoof prints, paused to give her horse a rest before continuing. While her horse caught its second wind, the vampire took a look at the landscape, her enhanced eyes searching for anything out of place. Twice her eyes had passed over Velvet's hiding place, but had failed to see the Dunmer's green eyes gleaming out from the branches of the nearby tree's leafy branches.

After Helen had disappeared around the bend in the road, following Shadowmere's trail, Velvet had waited a few minutes, out of habit, before dropping from the tree's leafy haven. Velvet hated keeping secrets from Helen, but some things were necessary to protect the people she cared about. As close as they were, Velvet still couldn't let Helen in on this situation… at least, not yet anyway.

When Velvet crested the nearest hill, she spotted the stone steps that she'd seen on her first trip to this landmark. They marked the final stretch to the summit. In the time of the Ayleids, these white stone steps had gleamed, leading up the hill to the altar on the peak, where the ancient Elven race had performed their rituals to their archaic gods. Now, after years of plundering by collectors and thieves, the steps were few and far between, pockmarks and gaps in the intricate stonework sullied the memory of the once great race that had ruled Cyrodiil.

Velvet carefully stepped upon these stone platforms and proceeded upwards toward the peak of Hero Hill. Once on its high peak, she gazed towards the distant city of Cheydinhal, unwitting location of her safe haven in this cruel world. It had been weeks since she'd been in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, but she still saw it as her home. An unexpected gust of wind made her cloak billow about her, awaking Velvet from her reverie. She shook her head, trying to focus; she had a job to do.

She redirected her gaze into the woods south of Hero Hill, searching for the small structure where she'd sent the Redguard. Spotting it through the tightly packed trees, she proceeded down the slight incline to the east, following the unmarked trail that curved down the hill and towards the cabin.

The same question that'd been bugging her on her way up the hill reared its ugly head once more: Why was she doing this? It's not as though the Redguard was particularly strong. Come to think of it, she couldn't think of a reason why she'd spared his life, sent him here, and was bringing him both the scroll she'd promised, along with an offer that he couldn't refuse. But here she was, helping him. The uncertainty bugged Velvet all the way to the cabin.

Shortly after returning to Lucien to report the contract as completed, she had taken some time in the Imperial Archives, researching her potential partner. It had been difficult to track him down, not knowing his name. In the end, the discovery had come from the Arena's win/loss records, found while pursuing a slight hunch brought on by the Redguard's apparent combat past. Velvet had been idly perusing the dusty tome amidst the towering bookcases, when she'd come across an artist's rendition of the warrior. It showed the man beaming while posing with his foot atop 3 Argonian bodies, next to another Redguard who was wearing iron-plate armor. The description below the portrait read: "Rhesus, Bloodletter, shortly after defeating three opponents at once. Next to him is his long-time friend, Owyn, Blademaster of the Arena".

"Rhesus, huh... Maybe you are more than you appeared at first glance." murmered Velvet.

Of course, she would have made the offer to him anyway; this just made it more certain. Although, she admitted, she had never been to see him fight before he had "died." Where, then, was this nagging feeling of familiarity coming from?

She raised her fist to knock on the door as she pushed the question out of her mind. This was the here and now; she had to focus on what was happening, not why it was happening.

Rhesus was reading a tattered old copy of Mixed Unit Tactics when he heard a small knock on the door. Usually, Rhesus wouldn't enjoy reading, but with the lack of anything better to do, he'd been forced to find other ways to entertain himself. The small cabin that Velvet had directed him to had contained a small library containing weapons and armor manuals, along with the histories of past wars. Rhesus had almost read the entire collection while waiting for the Dunmer to show up. She was 2 days overdue, and Rhesus was getting worried.

Rhesus peered through the window to see who it was at the door before opening it, with relief, revealing Velvet's cloaked figure. It never hurt to be certain of who you were letting into your hiding place. He trusted the Dunmer out of necessity, but also for a reason he couldn't explain. She seemed familiar somehow.

Velvet stepped inside, pulling off her constricting and hot cloak, throwing it onto a nearby chair. She shook out her cascading red hair, which settled into a waist-length rogue's knot, which started at her scalp from a silver band encrusted with jet-black stones, and trailed down her back. It felt good to be out of the sweltering sunlight. After Rhesus had closed the door, the room was relatively cool, thanks to the enchantment that its previous owner had cast shortly before meeting his untimely end on the tip of Velvet's blade. Ever since she'd found this place while on that assignment, she'd been using it as a home away from home whenever she was in the area.

She turned to Rhesus, who had been standing just inside the door with a half-expectant, half-nervous look on his face. She pulled her satchel from its location on her shoulder, leaning her heavy claymore against the wall as she did so. Opening the worn leather bag, she reached in and pulled out a fresh roll of parchment, pilfered from its location in Lucien Lachance's study in the sublevels of Fort Farragut. The air grew heavy with the sudden exposure to the power contained within that crisp, papery parcel. It had taken Lucien altogether too long to discover how to produce the reusable scroll that Velvet had requested. At first, Lucien had been curious as to the reason for her request, but had acceded to her wishes as he always did. In fact, Velvet had thought, frowning, Lucien had been acting strangely lately, particularly when Velvet was around. Lucien had found any excuse to extend their training, claiming that she would need it for upcoming missions. Velvet didn't believe a word of it, though. She'd known for months of his attempts to redirect the serious contracts to other sanctuaries, particularly Banus Alor's. Velvet had smiled when she had found out, Banus was a cringing crybaby, withal questionable love life. It would do him some good to finally get some action.

Snapping back to the present, Velvet extended the hand grasping the scroll towards the Redguard. "Here you go, Rhesus." Velvet said, "According to my source, that scroll should keep you alive, as long as you keep using it every three days. I'm sorry, I couldn't get the effect to last forever, but the scroll shouldn't run out of uses."

Rhesus took the scroll with caution, easing it from Velvet's open palm. He ignored her knowledge of his name, it was safe to assume that she had her sources of information. Once it was securely in his hand, the Redguard unfurled it hurriedly. His eyes darted across the parchment; he recognized some of the markings from Celedaen's scrolls. He sighed with relief; he was going to be just fine. He turned to Velvet, saying, "I can't thank you enough."

The Dunmer turned from the bookcase, which she'd been perusing. With a wave of her hand, Velvet dismissed his thanks. "It was but a trifle. If I'm right about you, you'll have plenty of opportunities to pay me back. As you may remember, I have an offer for you."

Rhesus nodded, bringing his full attention to bear on Velvet, whose slender figure had sunk into a chair by the unlit fireplace. She indicated that he have a seat in the chair opposite hers.

Rhesus sat in the indicated chair, attempting to appear relaxed. When it came to deals with the Dark Brotherhood, one had to be prepared for anything, but one did NOT try to back out of said agreement. Even if this wasn't the case, Rhesus was honor-bound to offer his assistance to the person who had spared his life.

The Dunmer assassin opposite him stared at him, and for the frst time, Rhesus actually had the chance to get a good look at the young, red-haired woman. Her eyes were brought into prominence by the drastic contrast between her glittering green eyes and her unmarred, pale purple skin. Under closer examination, the apparent innocence of those emerald orbs vanished, and one could spot the cool, calculating gaze of her sharp mind.

Underneath the dark cloak, which now lay in a heap on the chair by the door, she wore a suit of black leather. This leather suit fit tightly on her lithe form, accentuating the subtle curves of her athletic build. The beauty of the young Dunmer was misleading, though. Contained within those spry limbs was a strength that spoke of years of training and practice with the claymores she seemed to prefer.

Velvet's dark red hair swept past her ears, loose scarlet strands slipping over her leather-clad shoulders as she leaned towards Rhesus.

"If you were listening when we last saw each other, you may have heard me mention something about me forming a group."

Rhesus nodded, apprehensive of what was coming. Apparently, Velvet deemed this "group" to be controversial, even among murderers. Why else would she hide it from her dark brethren.

"What I didn't get to mention, before being interrupted by Helen," Velvet continued, "was the goal of the group. Have you ever heard of Sundercliff Watch, Rhesus?"

"No, is it significant?" Rhesus asked.

"It is a secret Ayleid fortress, perhaps the only one still standing, far to the east. Inside it, according to recently discovered ancient tomes, is a massive labyrinth of tunnels, ruins, and underwater caverns. Also in the tomes, there was hinted to be a weapon of unimaginable power, said to be created by Mehrunes Dagon himself," Velvet paused to brush her hair out of her eyes. She obviously wasn't accustomed to having her hair loose. Velvet continued, "The Dark Brotherhood's ruling council sent a pair of scouts to investigate, but neither came back. I knew them well, neither would have fallen victim to anything less than an army." Velvet looked down, blinking away tears.

Rhesus understood; he had lost comrades before as well. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. She looked back at him, her eyes clear again.

"Akhur and Deem-La were my close friends and fellow elite assassins; they should have made it there and back unscathed. This leads me to believe that what is protecting the weapon or the catacombs is quite powerful," Velvet gestured toward Rhesus, "which is why I think that you might be helpful in this venture. You and I, along with a couple others are going to go there, retrieve the weapon, and get out alive. ALL of us." She pounded her fist on the armrest of the chair for emphasis.

Rhesus could understand family honor, pride, and prestige; but what seemed to be a simple retrieval mission simply reeked of vengeance: vengeance for the Dark Brotherhood's honor, and for the fallen brethren. As much as he wanted to help, he had other priorities first.

"Listen, I'd love to help you, but I have to find my wife first," Rhesus said carefully. When he saw Velvet's eyes glower fiercely at him and her leather-gloved fist tightened, if that was at all possible. Rhesus raised his hands in an attempt to forestall her rage. "I promise, once I reunite with my wife, I will help you on your suicide mission."

Velvet's fist uncurled slightly as she thought this over. A warrior with nothing to distract him was better than 10 warriors with other things on their minds. If she wanted the weapon, she'd have to play along with his stupid little errand.

"Very well," Velvet said in a low voice, "I'll help you find your woman. But as soon as it's settled, you work for me." She offered her gloved hand to him.

Rhesus grasped it and shook it, glad that she had not killed him for even daring to argue with her.

Velvet stood up, reaching for her cloak, saying, "What's her name?"

"Tierra," said Rhesus, "She used to be in the Kvatch City Guard."

"I'll look into her whereabouts. While I do that, you'd better re-train your blade skill, you'll need it. There's a practice dummy in the basement." Velvet said as she pulled back the threadbare carpet on the floor, revealing a trap door. She grasped the iron ring handle and pulled. The trap door lurched up with a metallic groan, revealing a rickety wooden ladder that descended into the darkness below.

Velvet turned to leave, pulling her cloak on as she strode towards the door. She pulled her hood over her head as she grabbed the door's handle and opened it, releasing a draft of sweltering air to plunge into the comfortable room. She closed the door and started down the path. Rhesus watched her go for a few seconds, and then turned back towards the trap door. It was then that he noticed that she'd left her claymore behind. Grabbing its sheath, Rhesus almost lost his balance as he picked up the heavy weapon. Why would a girl wish to wield a claymore that even he would have trouble swinging? He threw open the door and ran outside, calling, "Hey, Velvet, you forgot your claymore!"

Velvet felt for the heavy weapon on her shoulder, feeling for its familiar hilt. After her hands hit nothing but air behind her, she cursed and started back up the path. How had she not noticed the absence of the comforting weight of the lengthy weapon?

As Velvet neared him, he took the time to examine the somehow claymore. The sheath was brand new, specially designed to provide minimum resistance when the weapon was drawn. It had a long rectangle cut out of the middle, revealing the cold steel blade. The gleaming blade was pitted with notches and scratches, where blades and shields had met the mighty sword, and had likely been rent asunder. The grip was wrapped in the same dark leather that Velvet's suit was made of, and in the pommel at the bottom of the grip was a flawless ruby. Along the intricately carved cross-hilt was a word inscribed in the surprisingly elegant Dunmer script. The carved designs seemed familiar, but the words were new. Rhesus had never learned to speak it fluently, but he had learned the alphabet from the Dunmer Gladiator who was often found practicing archery and hand-to-hand in the Arena Bloodworks. Rhesus had barely managed to translate it before Velvet arrived to take the claymore. Rhesus was surprised, instead of the name of a person, god, or even of the strange names that weapons usually had, the Dunmer script was of a single word: Cropsford.

Velvet reached over and snatched the heavy blade from under Rhesus's appraising gaze with almost superhuman ease. She slung the sheath's strap over her shoulders without a word, turned, and began down the hill once more.

Rhesus remembered where he'd seen the blade before. It was HIS claymore, from 20 years ago.

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A/N: Well, I decided that it might be better to extend this chapter again, into possibly 5 parts. I feel like I need to give Velvet and Rhesus more time to reveal their backstory.

Oooh, egads, the plot thickens... Cropsford, eh?

Once again, forget any inconsistencies, I'm trying to cram history in after I've already set up a timeline.


	13. Chapter 9, Part 4: Cropsford

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: As I said at the end of my last submission, I intend to give this backstory the length it deserves. Because of the importance of Rhesus's joining with Velvet, as well as Velvet's mysterious past, I plan to make 1 or 2 more parts of this part of the story before returning to the present.**

**Sooner or later, I am going to finally get around to rewriting the earlier chapters in an effort to make my story's quality uniformly good throughout the submissions. I feel as though that too many people get driven off by the teaser trailer and the first real chapter's poor quality. Looking at the traffic for the individual chapters, it starts off at roughly 300 hits, and then drops to about 90 for the chapter after the trailer, then constantly drops in number of hits as the chapters continue. Therefore, the trailer will be rewritten as a legitimate prologue, and the other early chapters will undergo a massive overhaul. When the refit is complete, I'll let you loyal readers know, so you can let me know how my remake went.**

**Also, Dark Minion's Diary will be making a comeback, with improved chapters and an ending that will end in tears for a certain group of fangirls, probably prompting a few angry messages.**

**Anyway, let's get this show on the road!**

**Read and Review!**

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Chapter 9, Part 4: Cropsford

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A bolt of lightning burst from the swirling stormclouds, illuminating the darkened forest path below for a brief, blinding moment. Sheets of rain pelted down upon the lone figure on horseback that was working his way up the muddy path. The howling wind swept through the thrashing trees, causing the thick cloak protecting the figure from the harsh element to billow about him. As another jagged line of lightning clove the dark clouds in two, the rider, head bowed against the wind, struggled to rein in his crazed and panicking horse. Thunder rumbled through the thick curtain of rain that obscured the surrounding woodlands from view. The horse reared in fright, almost throwing the rider down into the mud. As the horse came back down onto its front legs once more, the figure's hood that he wore low over his face was whipped back by the wind as he attempted to reach forward to grab the horse's bit and calm it.

"Easy, girl, it's only a storm," Rhesus said soothingly. The horse turned a big brown eye towards him and nickered against his hand worriedly, still frightened, but reassured by her master. Rhesus patted her neck, sitting back up in the saddle, rain plastering his warrior braids onto the back of his neck. Rhesus tried to peer through the curtain of rain that veiled the world. This wasn't going as planned at all.

After finishing his apprenticeship under Neville, an Imperial Legion soldier posted in Rhesus's hometown, Rheus had left his home to seek his fortune as a warrior, as was tradition. Redguards who came of age were expected to embark on a journey of self-discovery, and Rhesus was no different. Rhano, Rhesus's younger brother, had begged Rhesus to stay. Rhesus had knelt down to look his brother in the eye, tousling Rhano's thin hair as the 10-year old clung to his mother's skirt with a deathgrip that would require a troll to break it.

"Rhano," Rhesus had said, "The world calls to me, as does my destiny. When you are older, you will understand the feeling. For now, I need you to be strong for me, to take care of mother. Unlike father, I don't intend to die in some far-off, god-forsaken land before I return home. I promise you, I will return in 3 years, after I make something of myself. Be the man around the house while I'm gone, can you do that for me?"

Rhano sniffed and nodded, tears streaking down his face as the young boy tried to put on a brave face.

Rhesus had smiled and stood, and after saying his farewell to his mother, hefting his claymore across his back and strapping on his shortsword, had departed through the gate in the stone wall that enclosed their yard.

After a year of travel through Morrowind, he had crossed over the border and entered Cyrodiil, the capital province of Tamriel. Rhesus didn't expect for there to be much work here, because the Imperial Legion likely kept the lands safe in this important region. Therefore, he was planning to get through the province quickly, trying his luck in Elsweyr. He'd been making good progress when this terrible storm had hit.

Rhesus averted his eyes from another blinding flash of lightning, and in doing so, happened to notice a yellow glow illuminating the dark, huddled clouds that gathered in the air to the west. At last, civilization! Rhesus thought, hoping for an inn in which to wait out the clouds' deluge of water and lightning. He turned his horse off the path, proceeding through the trees toward the glow.

Rhesus and his horse emerged from the accursedly thick bushes that had sprung up in abundance throughout the woods. What he found on the other side made his blood run cold.

The settlement was engulfed in flame, pyres of smoke billowed toward the already dark sky as the wooden structures crackled under the intense heat. Silhouetted gainst the flames, he could make out figures engaged in combat. Drawing his claymore, Rhesus lunged toward the melee. As he closed the distance, he managed to distinguish the figures through the heavy smoke that obscured the battlefield. Goblins, dozens of them, were attacking a small cluster of people who were showing obvious signs of fatigue and injury.

Rhesus leapt towards the goblins that were encircling the small band of settlers. Reaching the closest one, he swung his claymore in a diagonal slash, cleaving through the goblin's thin bone armor, but only causing a light injury. The goblin spun about and screeched in a high voice at the newcomer. Rhesus swung once more, severing its head, and the goblin crumpled. Rhesus immediately slashed at the next goblin, first hacking off its arm, and then cutting the goblin in half, causing it to collapse onto the ground, its strange staff rolling from its limp fingers.

Turning to the rest of the goblins, he saw that he had lost his element of surprise. Alerted by the fallen goblin's screech, the others had spun about and started charging towards the Redguard. Backpedaling to buy himself time and to lure them away from the beleaguered farmers, Rhesus almost lost his balance when his foot struck a stone. Stumbling, Rhesus swung his blade to discourage the goblins from taking advantage of his momentary imbalance. When Rhesus hit the ground, he tucked into a backwards roll, trying to get back to his feet as soon as possible, he was only partly successful.

Rhesus had managed to tumble backwards into a crouch, but as he tried to stand, he felt his back hit the side of a wagon's burnt-out husk. The goblins regrouped and advanced towards Rhesus slowly, fanning out into a semi-circle to prevent his escape. Rhesus noticed that some of the goblins had different markings from the others. He realized that he had stumbled upon the battlefield of a goblin clan war.

Normally, goblins only fought other clans, but he had painted a huge target on himself when he had killed the warlord of one clan, and the shaman of the other. The goblins looked pissed. Although it was rare to see goblins of opposing clans teaming up in the face of a common foe, Rhesus didn't have the luxury to appreciate history in the making. Rhesus leapt to the side, and then darted towards the right side of the half-ring of goblin warriors, swinging his heavy claymore. Decapitating one and disarming another, he managed to break free of the deadly semi-circle.

"_Duck_!" a female voice yelled in a thick accent.

Rhesus dove to the ground as a pair of arrows streaked overhead, cutting down two of the 6 remaining goblins. He looked up to see two Dunmer, a man and a woman, each holding an iron bow. Rhesus sprang up again and turned toward the goblins. He had to cover the archers as they prepared for another shot. As he dropped his claymore in favor of the more agile shortsword, the goblins rushed him. Rhesus kicked the nearest one back, and brought up the blade. He sprang forward and slashed a deep furrow in the torso of one of the goblins, then wheeled about and stabbed another through the heart. Two more arrows flew past him, missing him by mere inches, and twin feathered shafts grew out of the goblin that had been sneaking up behind Rhesus. Rhesus then heard a pained yelp from the archers' direction. The Redguard spun about once more and threw his shortsword through the air. It spun end over end, glittering in the firelight, and made a hollow _thunk_ noise as it pierced into the skull of the goblin standing over the bleeding form of the female Dunmer. The goblin toppled backwards, its face skyward, a gleaming steel blade standing erect from its forehead.

The male Dunmer rushed to the woman's side, Rhesus assumed that she was his wife from the gentle caresses used to comfort her as she passed into the void. The Dunmer broke into tears, lowering his head to her side, weeping. Rhesus approached cautiously, placing his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to console him.

A Breton approached Rhesus and the Dunmer from the direction of the burning buildings. Stepping gingerly over Breton, Dunmer, and goblin corpses alike, he reached for Rhesus's hand. Pumping Rhesus's gauntleted hand up and down furiously, the man let loose a stream of thanks. Rhesus freed his hand as gently as he could and asked the obvious question: "How did this happen?"

The Breton sighed as he ran a singed, bloody hand through his already grimy hair. "It all started about 3 days ago when the second goblin clan appeared in the forest southwest of here. We never had any problems with the ones to the north other than the occasional stray goblin, nothing we couldn't handle. Then 3 days ago, my son spotted a goblin with different clan markings in the southwest woods. For two days, we witnessed the two groups skirt around Cropsford. They never came in, nor had any sort of confrontation until about four hours ago."

A resounding crack interrupted the story as the roof of the nearest house collapsed in a flurry of sparks, ashes and flames. The Breton gestured that they move a bit farther away, and as they relocated, he introduced himself as Barthel Gernand. Rhesus gave his name and returned the man's handshake.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Barthel continued, "A few hours ago, I was roused from sleep by quite a ruckus from outside. I hopped up and went to my window and saw a group of goblins thunder past, right through the village square, heading into the woods to the southwest. What I took to be the leader was carrying a staff with a shriveled old goblin head upon it. It had to be important, or else they wouldn't have made such a big deal about it. We thought nothing of it, dismissing it as one of those common goblin fits of insanity. Then a pursuing group of goblins ran past, chasing the totem-bearing group. They must've gotten it, too, because the same group came a-running back this way with staff in hand. This little game of capture the flag continued until about 10 minutes ago, when this happened." gestured at the fiery buildings.

"The north goblins were running back through, clutching their staff, when one of the other clan's shamans lobbed a fireball after them. The spell went wide of its target and hit the house across the square from mine. It spread, well, it spread like wildfire." Barthel smiled grimly at his own joke, "We tried to put it out, but our efforts drew the goblins' attention. Before we knew it, they were everywhere, bristling with weapons. We tried to fight them off, but they just kept coming until you came along. In fact, it's rather odd, but they must've run out of goblins to send at us. Either that or they're massing for another attack, but let's hope for the former rather than the latter."

Rhesus nodded and pulled his shortsword from the dead goblin's skull with a juicy popping sound. He cleaned it on the goblin's tattered clothing and looked about on the ground for the claymore he had dropped during the battle. His search was interrupted by a terrified scream from a nearby house that was engulfed in flame.

The grieving Dunmer whipped his head up at the noise, looking for its source. Once he'd determined its location, he started babbling incoherently in the confusing Dunmeri tongue. Barthel tried to calm him, asking a something in the panicked mer's language. The mer let loose a storm of slurred phrases that would have been hard to decipher even if Rhesus could speak the dark elves' language.

"What's he saying?" asked Rhesus.

The Breton looked at Rhesus, his eyes wide, "His daughter. His daughter is still inside!" he said.

Rhesus whirled and dashed towards the burning building without a word. Crossing the distance between the survivors and the flame-engulfed structure only took a matter of moments. Once he got there, he charged through the charred door, splintering its fragile frame with the strength born out of desperation to save the stranger's daughter.

Rhesus's head whipped around, looking around the room for the girl, hand over his mouth to block out the smoke and ashes.

Another scream rose above the sound of crackling flames.

Rhesus looked upward, where the scream had come from, then started for the stairs. Fire was crackling along the wooden steps, but Rhesus paid no heed to the danger. Bounding up the stairs, Rhesus turned the corner and ran down the burning corridor. After checking two of the rooms, he entered the third to find a girl cowering under her bed, her face streaked with lines of purple skin revealed by tears as they washed away the ashes that covered her shaking form.

Rhesus ran to her and tried to extract her from her haven, but she fought him viciously. Rhesus took a precious moment to think. She probably was too frightened to distinguish the Redguard from the monsters that had done this to her home, so he couldn't force her.

"Listen, I'm here to help," Rhesus shouted over the roar of the inferno as they ate at the building's wooden frame, "Come with me, I'll get you out of here and to your father."

The girl's eyes met his as Rhesus said this, glittering green orbs reflecting the dreadful orange glow of the flames that filled the room. She crawled out from under her bed and Rhesus picked her up and turned towards the door. Rhesus, hugging the girl to his body to protect her from the inferno, ran towards the stairs. He turned to descend the steps, and almost tumbled into the gap where the steps had been. They now lay in a smoldering pile on the bottom floor.

The girl coughed into his neck. Rhesus franticly looked around for another exit. They had to get out fast, or the smoke would be the end of them. Spotting a window, he told the girl to hang on tight. She must've understood, despite the language barrier, because she tightened her grip about his waist. Rhesus sprinted down the hall and dove through the window, praying that there was something to soften the landing. He twisted in mid-air to make sure that he would land on his back, protecting the girl from the impact. Together, they flew through empty air, and arced toward the ground below.

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A/N: Well, there's the start. It just seemed like a good place to stop, you know?

**I'm still working on my other stories, but I also plan to finish this part of the story before moving on to fixing DMD.**


	14. Chapter 9, Part 5: Through Fire & Flames

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: Well, my last chapter was probably my most successful one. I got a new reader, if he's still reading it like he said he would; and I have reached over 1000 hits on this story! Most of you loyal readers got a message saying as much, thanking you for your input and helping me get this far.**

**I have rewritten the first chapter of this story (the prologue) for all of you current readers who wish to see an improved intro.**

**When we last left our hero, Rhesus, he was barreling through the air from the window of a burning building. In his arms rests our future favorite bandit lord and it's obvious that it's her because of her red hair and green eyes.**

**The topic of her hair and eyes has been brought up by the new reader, as well as one old reader. The color velvet is, true, not a color, but whenever I was creating the character, I imagined velvet to only be the color red, not remembering "black velvet" or "purple velvet". I only remembered the color of velvet being red. As for her eyes, I have addressed this before: yes, she is unique and not exactly the standard Dunmer. Her eyes are different because most OC Dunmers are different than the cookie-cutter Dunmer race. From Leonette's bright-orange-haired hero, Lavinia; and many others having (but not limited to) orange eyes, blue eyes, yellow hair, blue hair, etc. Most OC Dunmers have to have a unique characteristic to make them special.**

**Anyway, enough about my reasons; on with the story.**

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Chapter 9, Part 5: Through the Fire and the Flames

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The house was engulfed in raging fire; timbers creaked as the flickering flames ate away at the support beams. The Redguard had already been in there for 3 minutes by Barthel's reckoning. He barely had the strength to hold the crazed Dunmer back from charging into the burning building after the tall warrior.

Suddenly he heard the sound of shattering glass and looked up. A soot-blackened form had hurled itself through the window, holding a smaller figure close to its chest. Fire glinted off the shards of glass as they coalesced into a halo of sharp edges encircling the figure. The window frame that the man, who could only be Rhesus, had recently vacated suddenly exploded outwards in a gush of fire. The flames engulfed the falling Redguard, and then dissipated as quickly as they had appeared. Wisps of smoke and fire curled around Rhesus as he fell. Then he was gone, lost among the tree branches.

Barthel cursed the tree that obscured his vision, and ran around to the other side, looking up to try to find the man among the dark branches. "Are you there? Are you alright?" he called up into the tree. He called some neighbors over to try to mount a rescue effort into the tree.

Rhesus, despite the agony that plagued him, croaked a response over his shoulder towards the foot of the tree. "Yes," he rasped out, "we're alright. Hurry, though, I'm not sure how long I can keep us up here."

Rhesus shifted his weight off of his wounded leg, easing the pressure off of the shard of glass that had embedded itself in his thigh. He took a quick look towards the girl, and she seemed alright. She looked at him in a frightened way, her emerald eyes sparkling with tears. He brushed aside a lock of scarlet hair that had swept in front of her face, "It's okay, they'll be here soon, you'll be with your dad in no time," he said soothingly.

A few minutes later, Barthel's head popped up next to Rhesus's. Rhesus handed the girl gently to him, and Barthel eased down the ladder with her in his arms. A few moments later, Rhesus heard the sounds of a joyous reunion of the girl with her father. Barthel came up next to Rhesus again, saying, "Your turn."

It took some doing, but Barthel managed to get Rhesus to the ground without aggravating the warrior's wounded leg too much. Once safely down, Barthel eased the long shard of glass out of Rhesus's thigh and started casting a spell of healing upon the bloody gash. Cool relief replaced the throb of pain as the wound sealed itself under the Breton's glowing palm.

As soon as he could stand, Rhesus got up and began gathering his equipment, which had been removed during the healing process. Barthel protested, saying that Rhesus should take some time to recover, and that there was a camp nearby that they could occupy until they could handle the goblin problem. Rhesus declined the offer. As Rhesus picked up his sword belt, he felt something grab him about the legs, and looked down to see the little Dunmer girl embracing his legs in an attempt to keep him from leaving.

Rhesus sighed, this was the hardest part of living the way he did. He reached down and peeled her arms from his legs, then walked quickly towards his horse, trying not to look back. He couldn't afford to get settled, not as long as his family was still waiting for him; not as long as Rhano was waiting.

After retrieving his claymore from where it lay among the dead goblins, he mounted his horse, receiving a twinge of pain in his still sore leg as he settled into the saddle. He looked at the burning buildings. The fires had started to fade as the rain finally started having an effect on the fires that had burned their way through their fuel. He would send some help from Bravil, his next stop. The people there, he was sure, would help this beleaguered settlement.

He turned his horse towards the trail, then heard a faint "huff" and felt a weight clamber on behind him. He turned around, already knowing what he would find. The Dunmer girl had climbed onto his horse, almost as if she wanted to go with him. Rhesus looked around for her father, who was nowhere to be seen, which was weird considering how close she'd come to death. Rhesus was surprised that the father had let her out of his sight, much less let her run off to try to go with a warrior.

Rhesus looked at her again, and she looked right back at him, a determined look in her large green eyes. Rhesus knew the feeling that she was experiencing. He himself had chased after an Imperial Legion Soldier after the man had saved Rhesus, who had been running an errand at the time. The soldier had come in, sword slashing at the bandits assaulting Rhesus. When it was all over, Rhesus had almost begged the soldier to teach him, but the soldier refused, saying that Rhesus was still too young to know bloodshed.

Now Rhesus was faced with a similar situation. He couldn't care for a girl of her age while on the road, especially not with his dangerous lifestyle. But then again, he knew that look, knew what was going on in her mind. He knew that she desired to be just like him: a warrior. He dismounted his horse, his leg giving another pang of discomfort, and pulling her off his saddle and setting her down before him. He knelt and looked her in those deep, emerald eyes.

"Listen, I know how you feel, but you're too young and have no experience. You'd be killed, and I couldn't live with that." She looked down, sorrow filling her features.

"But I want to stop the bad people," came a tiny voice from the girl. It was surprisingly clear and mature, which surprised Rhesus. This was a girl who was more mature then she appeared, and she knew what she wanted.

It broke Rhesus's heart to have to do this, but he knew it had to be done. Then he had an idea. He walked her back to the settlement and found her father.

The Dunmer was a lot calmer now that his daughter wasn't in mortal danger, and thanked Rhesus in halting Cyrodiilic Standard.

Rhesus said, "Your daughter craves adventure. She even tried to follow me, but I can't care for anyone with no experience. But I have a suggestion for you."

Rhesus pulled his claymore off his back and presented it to the Dunmer, "Here, take it. Defend your family and teach her how to defend herself. Maybe one day we may cross paths again, but until then, train her well. And when the time comes, you must let her go. Such is the way of the warrior."

The girl gazed up at the gleaming blade with awe. While she was distracted, Rhesus made his escape. He rode away from the settlement, heading south towards the bridge that could take him west towards Bravil.

The storm broke, and sun streamed through the clouds. The future looked bright, if only for the moment.

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**A/N: I want to finish this whole back-story up in one go, so here's one of the rare "Velvet-Only" scenes, showing what happened a few years later. In the meantime, Rhesus returned to his home when he said he would, Velvet's father taught her the way of the sword as per her wishes, and she grew up fighting with daggers and shortswords (Why not the claymore you ask? You'll see). She may have forgotten Rhesus himself, but she would never forget the man who had saved her life. (She does eventually, though.) I bet most of you are also wondering who she possibly could have murdered. Don't worry; I'll get around to it eventually. Note: I altered the timeline of this flashback by 5 years, making Velvet roughly 14 when this next part happens, 9 when Rhesus saved her, and I'd guess 15 when Lucien finds her.**

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A few miles south of New Cropsford

Velvet sat on a stump on a hill overlooking Niben Bay, alone with her thoughts. It had been 5 years since the town had been decimated by fire and the goblin war.

5 years since he'd left.

Velvet, having been only 9 at the time, couldn't remember the Redguard's face. Too many traumatizing things had occurred that night that took precedence in her memories, but she couldn't forget what he'd given her. The warrior had given her a purpose, a goal, a lifestyle. Eventually, when she was ready, she would take the steel claymore from the mantle above the fireplace and enter into the world as a warrior.

Velvet's hair swirled around her head as a sudden gust of wind blew across the hilltop. She looked up to see the sunset shining glorious colors upon Niben Bay's rippling surface. It was a breathtaking sight.

Then something moved in the corner of Velvet's eye, and her hands darted to the elven shortsword that her father had given her for her birthday two years previous. She always kept it sharp and clean, befitting of a warrior.

Velvet's emerald eyes followed the huddled figure as it emerged from the line of trees at the bottom of the hill, swayed a bit, and then toppled to the ground. Velvet leapt from her seat and darted down the hill, stopping a few yards shy of the fallen figure. Most of the figure was covered in torn clothing that had pieces of vegetation caught on the cloth. Velvet spied long brown hair flowing from under the tattered garments.

"Are you alright?" Velvet called to the bundle of clothes.

No response, the figure didn't move.

Velvet lowered her blade, but didn't put it away. She edged closer to the huddled mass. Velvet knelt down next to it and turned it over. It was a Breton woman; Velvet guessed that she was about 27 at first glance. At least, that was until Velvet saw the fangs.

Velvet leapt backwards as ruby-colored eyes peeked out from barely open eyelids.

"Please…" the woman's voice croaked out, "kill…me…"

Velvet was shaken by this. "Why do you want to die?" she asked.

"I…can't live like this…anymore…" the woman wheezed, "I…want to…end it."

"I won't do it."

"What?" the vampire said painfully.

"I told you, I won't do it!" Velvet crossed her arms pointedly, sheathing her blade, "Nobody should want to die because of something as silly as vampirism. You've been given immortality! Use it to do something worthwhile! As long as nobody finds out, and you keep it a secret; you can do anything!"

"What…do you…propose?" the Breton wheezed, "I'm dead anyway, I just… wanted it to be quick… and painless."

"Well, I'm certainly not letting you die." Velvet said as she grabbed a bowl from her pack and pulled up her sleeve.

"What are…you doing?" the vampire gasped out.

"What do you think I'm doing? Do you see any animals around?" Velvet gestured at her surroundings incredulously.

"Aren't…you afraid…?" asked the Breton.

"Warriors fear nothing," Velvet said as she used her blade to cut her arm, suspending the wound over the bowl. The dish began filling up with the sanguine fluid, and Velvet began to get pale. Once there was enough in the bowl, she bound the wound quickly with her linen sash, and then offered the bowl to the Breton vampire.

"Why…? You...Don't even…know me!" the vampire said, unbelieving, taking the bowl.

"What's your name?" Velvet asked weakly.

"Helen."

"I'm Velvet; it's an honor to… meet you." Velvet said as she slumped backwards onto the hill's soft grass.

"The honor is all mine," said Helen, drinking.

To Velvet, the following time went by in a blur of confusion. She remembered saying where her home was, and then strong arms lifted her from the grass. She remembered the scenery flying by at inhuman speeds. Then everything went dark, but she heard her father's panicked voice calling to her.

Velvet opened her eyes to see her father leaning over her, a worried look on his usually passive features.

"Father?" Velvet's voice came out in a croak.

"Oh, praise Vivec, you're awake!" her father said happily, "I thought you would never wake up!"

"What happened?" Velvet asked.

"You tell me! I was sitting in my study reading when I heard a knock at the door. When I answered it, you were lying on the doorstep unconscious."

"Well… wait; nobody besides me was there when you opened the door?" Velvet asked.

"No."

"I can't remember…" Velvet said, nodding off to sleep again.

Velvet awoke that night to the sound of her window slamming shut. She sat up in bed, swayed dizzily for a moment, then looked around. Two red eyes gleamed from the dark side of the room.

"Helen?"

"Indeed, I wanted to make sure you were well before I left." Helen said from the shadows. She was wearing new robes of a dark blue color. She blended perfectly into the dark corner except for the red sash she was wearing.

"Why did you leave me?" Velvet asked.

"I did not think that your father would react well to a vampire holding his bleeding daughter upon his doorstep." Helen said wryly.

"You're probably right," Velvet said, nodding in agreement. Dunmer were born with a natural distrust of any sort of vampire. Centuries of being attacked by Ash Vampires definitely left a racial prejudice. Personally, Velvet had never really understood why the Dunmer had so many biases. Most of them were based on events that had happened centuries before, and were no longer relevant. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"I figured I'd hang around a bit," Helen began, holding up her hand when Velvet started protesting. "I owe you my life. You gave me a new view of the world, a reason to live. No prejudiced father could keep me away, even if he wanted to."

Velvet was still a bit worried. Her father had been training with the claymore since the Redguard gave it to him, and he was getting rather good with it. She wasn't sure if even a vampire could fight him.

Helen went to the window and opened it. She looked at Velvet, "I'll be around if you ever need me," she said as she climbed out the window. Helen gave a small wave of farewell through the window before she closed it and disappeared into the night.

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**2 months later**

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Velvet's father was drunk again.

Velvet sighed, this happened every year on the anniversary of her mother's death. He drank himself into a stupor in front of the fireplace, falling asleep in the large chair there. Velvet had learned about three years earlier to avoid him when he was like this.

Velvet had returned from a late night excursion to the nearby caves. She went there occasionally to fight the rats and mudcrabs that had flourished there ever since the goblin clans' deaths. She had dispatched the troublesome creatures easily, her blade cutting them to bits. When she returned home, she found her father in his customary chair, nursing a jug of ale.

"Where have you –hic– been, Velvet?" her father's voice rumbled from his lowered head.

"I was out training, father. I told you that before I left." Velvet said.

"Yeah… BUT YOU'RE LATE!" her father slurred loudly, "You need…to be taught a lesson." He rose from his chair and staggered over to Velvet, who stepped backward a step in fear. He smacked her face with enough force to throw her to the ground.

Velvet looked up, tears in her eyes, a bruise forming on her cheek. Never before had her father acted like this, he'd never hit her before. Her father staggered back to his chair and collapsed into it with a huff of breath.

Tonight, Velvet made sure to avoid her father. She sat on her bed reading "A Warp in the West", a combat training manual. Velvet heard a rap on the windowpane. It was Helen.

Velvet opened the window, and Helen clambered inside. Helen and Velvet had become great friends since they had met two months prior. Wherever Velvet went adventuring, Helen followed. They talked for hours, Helen spoke about her many years wandering, and Velvet spoke about her recurring dreams about the brave man who had saved her. Helen said that the man's description rang a bell, as if she had heard of someone like that, but couldn't put her finger on it.

A week ago, Helen had simply not shown up to their usual meeting spot. Velvet had thought that Helen had moved on for now, but would probably be back to visit her friend.

"Where have you been, Helen?" Velvet asked.

"I've been around. I went to the Imperial City for a bit to watch the Arena to find a few pointers for your training." Helen answered.

Helen and Velvet heard a clatter from the other room and went silent.

"What's up with your father? I can sense him, but his mind seems a bit blurred." Helen asked.

Velvet sighed. "He's drunk again, so keep it down. I don't know what he'd do if he came in here and found a vampire. Even with nothing to anger him, he's violent to say the least."

"How do you tolerate it?" Helen inquired.

"Well," Velvet began, "It is only once a year, and she was his wife, so he's right to mourn her passing. Even though it's been five years, I still can't imagine forgetting someone I loved."

A fist pounded loudly on the door. "Velvet!" her father slurred, "What's going on? I hear voices…WHO'S THERE WITH YOU?"

"Damn, Helen, you have to go. Now!" Velvet reached for the window as her father barged down the door.

Helen was halfway out the window when Velvet's father grabbed her ankle and pulled her back inside.

"Now, what do we have here?" Velvet's father leered at Helen. The Breton could smell alcohol heavily on his breath. She tried to wriggle free as his blurry eyes appraised her red ones. He suddenly grabbed her chin and wrenched it downward, exposing Helen's fangs.

"A VAMPIRE? YOU DARE TO ASSOCIATE WITH THESE BEASTS?" he yelled.

"Father! Let her go!" Velvet cried, pulling at his arms. He swung one of his arms back at Velvet, knocking her across the room. Velvet's head struck the wall and she slumped to the ground with a dazed look on her face.

"I'll show you what we do with vampires!" her father said, dragging Helen into the other room. Velvet's confused mind could see Helen's panicked face, which cleared her confusion instantly. Velvet climbed back to her feet, pursuing her father.

He had Helen pinned to the table, and was reaching for the large butcher knife in the kitchen cabinet. He held it up into the air, almost as if savoring the moment before plunging it downward into Helen's heart.

Velvet's eyes darted across the room, but could find nothing. She threw her thin form at her father, throwing him off balance, staggering him backwards toward the fireplace. He hit the stonework with a thud, knocking the claymore from its stand. It clattered to the ground with a resounding clang.

"You ungrateful wench," her father muttered, "How dare you attack me…" He strode towards Velvet and seized her by the neck, throwing her backwards towards the wall. She struck the stone frame of the fireplace and slipped to the ground again. As he stomped towards her, Velvet grasped around on the ground for something to fend him off with, preferably one of the fire pokers. Velvet's hands closed on a familiar shape, and she raised the object in front of her, closing her eyes in fear.

There was a grunt of pain, a few shuffled steps as Velvet's improvised weapon was wrenched from her hand, and then a thud as her father hit the ground. Velvet opened her eyes to see the gleaming steel claymore protruding from her father's chest. In his alcohol-clouded mind, he hadn't had enough sense to avoid the blade.

"Oh gods…what have I done?" Velvet cried out, tears flowing freely as she ran to her father's side.

His breaths came in shallow, gurgling gasps. He felt around for something, and Velvet seized his hand and held it close. His other hand sought out her face, caressing it weakly. "Alvela?" he breathed. Velvet's eyes welled up with even more tears, if that was possible. He thought that Velvet was his dead wife, her mother.

His hands went limp, and the one feeling her cheek fell to his side with a small thud. Velvet grasped the one in her hands closer, sobbing apologies into it.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Helen.

"Velvet, we have to go. People will have heard the noise, and I doubt that they will see this as a simple accident," she said.

Velvet sniffed and nodded, she felt cold… Helen grabbed a sack and filled it with supplies. When she had gathered enough provisions to last them for a while, she turned back to Velvet, who hadn't moved. The only difference was that she had pulled the claymore from her father's corpse, and was clasping it close to her as if it would vanish.

Helen guided the sorrow-stricken Velvet out the door and to the tree line. Velvet didn't remember reaching the camp a few miles away.

The next day, Helen asked Velvet if she knew of anywhere they might be able to go. Velvet jerked from her near-comatose state as she heard her friend's voice.

"There is one place… It's an abandoned farm about twenty miles northeast of Kvatch. I discovered it when I went there to watch the Kvatch Arena. The owner went missing a few years ago, and people think it's haunted, so it should be safe." Velvet answered.

"Well, then, let's not tarry." Helen said, rising to her feet and shouldering their supplies.

Velvet rose, grabbing only the steel claymore.

Together, the pair set out westward towards their destination, away from their previous lives.

**

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A/N: And so it comes full circle. There's the story of the claymore, of Velvet and Helen, and of Velvet's first murder. Although, technically her father attacked her, making it self-defense… Wait! He didn't know what he was doing because he was drunk! As we know "Her killing had been observed by forces unknown…" Soon, the air will grow chill and a shadow will approach.

**I decided to use Shetcombe farm simply because it's abandoned and it works out.**


	15. Chapter 10:pI: Bonds Sundered and Forged

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: Well, Oblivion readers, here I am again, back from my short jaunt in the Bioshock fanfiction index. It is a journey that I will continue later. First, though, I must continue the story that is already somewhat coming along. We are now returning to the point at which Velvet has recently left Rhesus, and Rhesus has just had his revelation as to who Velvet really is. Now I will cover the story from that point, then I will return to the present, where Velvet and Kelvyn are still standing around waiting for me to get back to them. This next part is Chapter 10, which might come as quite a relief after the five-part Chapter 9. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope I will write something that you enjoy.**

**Read and Review!**

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**Chapter 10**:_ Bonds: Both Sundered and Forged, Part 1._

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A week had passed since Velvet had departed to search for Rhesus's wife: Tierra, and the Redguard was getting restless. He had been slowly regaining his former skill with training dummy in the basement, and was now confident that he'd be able to hold his own with Velvet, if only for a few minutes. But now he was bored after reading every book in the library, practicing with his blade until it dulled, and even trying to write his own book: The Chronicles of a Dead Man. That idea died quickly, because Rhesus realized that most of his activities following his death in the Arena would likely be either frowned upon or desired to be kept secret by the Mages' Guild and the Dark Brotherhood.

It was another boring day, which Rhesus was spending sharpening his blade on the porch of the small cottage, when he spotted a dark shape down the hill. _Finally!_ Rhesus thought, putting the longsword down on the table next to him. He rose and stretched the stiffness from his limbs, cracked his back, then went inside to get a drink for Velvet, who would no doubt be thirsty after her journey.

It took Velvet a few minutes to reach the peak, and Rhesus opened the door when she arrived. Velvet was still wearing her dark cloak over her tight, black leather armor, despite the sunny day. Velvet started to speak, but Rhesus hushed her, handing her the cup of cool water he had poured for her.

"Have a drink first. I may want to find my wife, but I'm not a slave driver," he said.

Velvet accepted the cup with a nod of thanks and downed it in three gulps. She wiped the watery remnants from her lips with her sleeve, placed the cup on the table, and then began to speak. "Rhesus, I found her in Kvatch, as you said I would, but there have been… complications since you left. The city was attacked during the Oblivion Crisis, and many died. Thankfully, Tierra wasn't among them, as she chose to team up with the Hero of Cyrodiil, who managed to drive off the daedra and liberate the ruins."

"Oh thank the Nine," Rhesus said, collapsing into a chair, "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that she survived that hellhole. When I heard that Kvatch had fallen, I couldn't sleep for a week, and Celedaen was worried for me."

At this, Velvet rolled her eyes in annoyance. People were always overly dramatic when it came to family. This exact reason had been why she had refused to get close to people apart from Helen, until Lucien, of course. Her mind drifted, picturing the handsome Imperial hacking and slashing through a crowd of faceless civilians. Velvet sighed, then snapped herself back into reality, now was not the time to be daydreaming. She looked back at Rhesus, who seemed to have been rambling on while she had had her head in the clouds.

Velvet raised a hand to halt Rhesus's stream of nonsense, "Rhesus, if we're going to meet your wife, I'd rather get this over with quickly. That way, we can get back to dealing with Sundercliff Watch."

"Of course," said Rhesus, "we should leave immediately. Uh, this might be a foolish question but… How are we going to get there? Even if you have a horse, that still leaves me without a ride, and I refuse to steal one."

Velvet sighed again, rubbing her brow in frustration, "My horse is more than strong enough, just follow me." She whirled about and headed out the door again. Rhesus followed after closing the door to the cottage and locking it. No need to give looters an open door.

The pair made their way down the hill and through the small patch of forest near the bottom of the hill. Upon reaching the side of the road, Velvet put out an arm to halt Rhesus in his tracks, then pulled out a small ivory whistle with a skull carved on it. She blew into it, the high pitch irritating Rhesus's ears. Nothing happened.

"What was that all about?" Rhesus asked.

"Just wait a moment. Shadowmere should be here momentarily." Velvet replied.

Rhesus stared at her in confusion for a few moments until he heard a string of rapid thumps upon the ground. The Redguard looked up the road to see a black shape cresting the hill about half a mile away. Before he knew it, the same black shape blurred into his vision and a very solid form struck him, knocking him down to the ground in a heap.

"Shadowmere! That wasn't nice!" he heard Velvet exclaim. Rhesus looked up to see a jet-black horse standing next to Velvet, a barely visible cloud of steam rising from its dark skin. On the ground behind it, two small patches of flame smoldered in the shape of horseshoes. Looking farther up the road from his position on the ground, Rhesus could see more of the flaming hoof-prints dotting the cobblestones in various states of charring. Velvet walked up to the demon-horse's side and gave it a small pat on the side of its neck. The horse neighed and nuzzled her hand.

"What….is that?" Rhesus asked between gasps.

"This is Shadowmere, my horse. He is what will get us to Kvatch in record time." Velvet responded with a laugh, "I suggest you treat him with respect, or he's liable to take a bite out of your arm."

Rhesus caught a glimpse of razor-sharp teeth filling the horse's mouth as Velvet said this, as well as what could be called evil glint in the horse's ruby eyes. Rhesus rose and headed back over to Velvet, taking care to stay as far away from the demon steed's mouth as possible.

Velvet hopped up onto the horse's black saddle without a hint of fear, then extended her hand to Rhesus to help him up. Rhesus grasped her arm and was pulled easily up into the saddle, where he brushed up against the Elven claymore that was strapped to her back.

"Hey, what happened to your claymore?" Rhesus asked, wondering where she'd put his old weapon.

"What are you talking about? It's right here! I didn't forget this one inside, too, did I?" Velvet said, feeling behind her back for the blade's handle.

"No, no, you still have your Elven one," Rhesus said, "But where's the steel one?"

"Oh, THAT claymore. I use that one for ceremonial occasion. You know, special targets," she said with a wink, "Also for when I don't expect any serious fighting. Darkrend here is much more reliable. I have an… errand to do in Skingrad while you get caught up with your spouse, if you don't mind me leaving you alone for a couple hours."

"Skingrad…a couple of hours?" Rhesus gawked until he remembered the speed at which this horse was capable of going. "No, no problem, I'll be fine."

"Good, because I simply must get there, I hear that it's going to be a fun…errand." Velvet said, a wicked grin accompanying her last words.

Rhesus gave a slight shudder. It was hard enough living with the fact that he'd be helping a Dark Brotherhood member. But did she really have to rub in the fact that she was killing people with such a relaxed attitude about it?

Velvet looked at him again, grin still on her face, "You'd better hang on. Shadowmere here's been known to throw someone off so fast that they scraped half their face off before sliding to a stop."

Rhesus grabbed his arms tightly around Velvet's waist, much to Velvet's discomfort. Well, she thought, if he's going to stay on the horse, there's no other way…

Velvet shook the reigns once and shouted to her horse, "To Kvatch, Shadowmere! With haste!"

All was still in the world for a brief shining moment before all the colors blurred together in a maelstrom of hues. Rhesus's clothes whipped about him as the horse flew over the countryside as if Mehrunes Dagon himself was behind them. Velvet whooped in excitement, earning another stare from Rhesus's eyes, which were watering from the air blasting into his face.

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After what seemed like minutes, the whirlwind of colors around them blurred to a stop, and Rhesus could make out a small statue outside the walls of the city that he could only assume was Kvatch. The white marble statue was of a robed man holding an amulet out before him, the shape of a dragon spewing forth from its surface.

"Who's that?" Rhesus asked, pointing at the statue.

"You really didn't get out much when you were with Celedaen, did you?" asked Velvet. Rhesus shook his head. Velvet sighed again, as she often did with Rhesus around, and started explaining, "That's Martin Septim, bastard son of Uriel Septim: Would-be Emperor of Cyrodiil, casting Mehrunes Dagon back into Oblivion and sealing up the gates behind him with the help of the Hero of Cyrodiil. It would have been the perfect end to a heroic tale if the dragon Martin had turned into hadn't turned to stone after banishing the Daedric Prince."

"You don't seem very respectful of the man who saved the province." Rhesus noted.

Velvet looked at him with a smirk on her face, "_Why?_ He was one of my next missions! Apparently he got too grabby with the Count's daughter in the confession booth. Also, the Mythic Dawn cult was going to pay a lot of Septims for us to bump him off, too. He was lucky that he became a statue, because he wouldn't have lasted long afterwards. I was waiting behind the pillar across the room, waiting for the opening that would come when the 'Hero' wasn't looking. When he "died by turning into that blasted statue, I lost my paycheck. We don't get paid unless we kill them ourselves, you see..."

Rhesus gave her another shocked look and slid from the horse.

Velvet turned Shadowmere around and then looked down at Rhesus, "Your wife lives on the west side of town, two houses down from the new Arena. I'll be back in a few hours, meet me in the Antus Pinder Inn down the street, and then we'll be on our way."

Rhesus nodded and turned toward the gate, adjusting his vest. He heard a "whoosh" of wind behind him and turned around to see a black blur heading west along the Gold Road, a trail of flaming hoof-prints flaring in its wake.

Rhesus shook his head in disbelief, that girl was just insane. He turned and headed toward the gate again. The guard nodded his helmeted head in greeting as Rhesus passed the heavy oak doors into the city. He gaped at the rebuilt city.

The new buildings glistened in the afternoon sun, which cast an orange hue on the grey-stoned structures that lined the main avenue. In the plaza just inside the gate, another statue stood, this time of a dragon, wings outstretched and maw open, spewing granite flames into the air. Rhesus inhaled, breathing in the familiar aroma of the forge across the plaza, as well as the scent of fresh bread from the Antus Pinder Inn's open door. Rhesus heard the clash of metal on metal, as well as a roaring crowd, and headed towards the noise. The new Arena was no less impressive than the main avenue of the city. Towering walls of smooth travertine limestone dominated the cityscape, casting half of the town in its shadow. An aged Breton manned the table where bets were made on combatants, drumming lazily on the table with long, knobby fingers.

Rhesus walked up to the old man, who immediately sat up straight with a smile on his face. "Welcome to the Kvatch Arena, care to make a wager on a combatant? Or perhaps you're more of the gladiator type yourself, eh?" He gave Rhesus a sly wink.

Rhesus shook his head, "No, sorry, I was just wondering if you knew which one of these houses the Redguard Tierra lived in."

"Oh," the Breton said, slumping back into his tired posture, "it's over there, second house down." The man pointed at a house that had plants hanging from each window, giving it the appearance of a building in the Imperial Elven Gardens District.

Rhesus thanked the man for confirming the location of Tierra's house. It wasn't that he didn't trust Velvet, but it never hurt to be sure of where you were going.

Rhesus walked over to the house, up the stairs, and stopped at the door. Rhesus raised a fist to knock, then hesitated. What if she didn't recognize him after the months they'd been separated? What if she hated him for not returning the moment he was alive again? What if she fainted at the sight of her dead husband? Uncertainties coursed through his brain, then were swept aside by his desire to see his darling wife again. He squeezed his fist tighter after feeling his newfound resolve, then knocked on the door.

Noises were heard from within, footsteps headed towards the door. The door creaked open halfway, and Tierra stood in the doorway, holding a jug of water. She looked at Rhesus and he looked at her, drinking her appearance in like a man who had never seen any being with beauty so fine. Her eyes looked him over, then rose to his face. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"R-Rhesus?" she asked, voice quivering.

"Aye, Tierra, it is me." Rhesus answered.

The jug of water slipped from her fingers, shattering in a cacophony of noise as it hit the ground. Tierra's quivering arms reached forward to touch Rhesus's face, her soft skin brushing against his scarred features.

"Tierra?" A man's voice came from within the home, "What's wrong? I heard something shatter...?"

The door opened fully, revealing a male Redguard wearing half of a suit of battered iron armor. Obviously caught in the middle of taking his armor off, the man still wore a mace at his hip and had a small knife handle sticking out of his iron boots. His black hair was tinged with grey as it curved over the top of his head to end in braids at the back of his neck. Rhesus gaped at the man's face, for it was one that he would never forget. Eyes showing the wisdom of a warrior looked back at him, wrinkles around the edges from years of battle-weariness and stress. A scar crossed his face from his right temple to the left side of his chin.

It was the face of Owyn, his old Blademaster and friend from the Imperial City Arena.

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**A/N: Whoaa! What a twist, eh? Rhesus returns from his absence only to find his old friend with his wife? I hope that no one's reading this part before the story, or else I just spoiled the whole chapter.**

**Before I go, I'd like to ask people who are reading this to: (1) Read and Review, and (2) Vote in the poll on my profile. The choices are rather obvious.**

**A few thanks for ideas: Leonette for the ivory whistle and the admonishing of Shadowmere. Thanks to my dad for the whole "Tierra moving on" idea. **

**Apologies in advance (or is it hindsight?) to all the Martin Septim fangirls for portraying him as a philandering priest. Please don't blow me up with your many, many flames about it.**

**Anyway, Chapter 10 will most likely only have one more part, concluding in the next TFoLK submission. After which, I will most likely return to "present day", where… well, I believe I've already described what it's going to be in the first Author's note. I hope you guys decide to read and review!**


	16. Chapter 11: 'Til Death Do Us Part?

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: It's back, everyone! The Fall of Lord Kelvyn has risen from the grave of anonymity and absence. I know, it's been about... I don't know HOW long! I have to admit, my dad is the only reason this is up. He is the driving force behind this one, and we worked together to write this (he wrote most of it :P) In fact, I barely wrote any of it, but tossed my own little tidbits into this chapter as we worked together to get the characters and facts right.**

**I bet Arty's almost leaping for joy right now. This one's for you, Arty.**

**It's shorter than usual, we know, but it just seemed to work. It's a lot better than the usual riff-raff I usually post in this story, and ALL credit goes to my dad for it.**

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**Chapter 12**: _Till Death Do Us Part_?

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The look on Owyn's face although stunned at the sight of Rhesus standing in the doorway towering over Tierra held something deeper. Something that an experienced warrior and leader of men like Rhesus had seen before. Guilt. Seeing him here with his wife, although he technically wasn't sure about their marital status anymore, since he'd been dead for eight weeks before Celedaen had found him, using his dark magic to restore and reanimate his body for his dark purposes. "Til death do us part" was starting to get complicated. If you stacked on the time he had spent, since then, working for Celedaen and meeting with Velvet, it had certainly been a while. Still Rhesus had wished that his wife's memory of her love for him would have lingered a little longer.

Rhesus watched with surprise of his own as Owyn's eyes cast around the room at the parts of his hastily and recently removed armor. His gaze alighting everywhere except where it should have, back into Rhesus's own eyes. There should have been no reason at all for his old comrade's hand to travel so quickly to the handle of his mace.

Though death has a nasty way of clouding one's memories, the conversation that Rhesus had shared with Owyn the day of his death shrieked suddenly back into his mind, like the ghost of a bad dream someone tries to forget in the daylight but is far too terrible to be ignored at bedtime.

Rhesus had previously told his "old friend" that he had been wanting to earn some extra money to buy something really nice for Tierra when suddenly out of the blue, Owyn had approached him about making some quick money in the arena.

"There is a new orc gladiator that thinks he is hot stuff, how about making some of that money you need and teaching the jerk a lesson?" he had suggested to Rhesus. "He should be no problem for you!"

Rhesus had been trying to save to buy Tierra a new suit of chain mail to protect her better during her own sometimes violent excursions. Being a strong warrior herself was one of the things that had first attracted Rhesus to her, but living with the worry that his wife would fall in battle had become one the hardest things to handle about caring for someone so much.

Rhesus had agreed to the fight but had not expected his friend to have set him up with a "ringer". After he had been brought back to the world of the living, he had heard rumors that the Orc that had gotten the best of him, a spellsword named Gorgoth, a fighter of tremendous power and skill had gone on to perform many heroic deeds. The truth came home to him, like a giant fist punching him in the gut, that Owyn, a man that made his living evaluating warriors and pitting them against one another, would have known the Orc was likely to be his end. He had been set up. Some of that had been due to his own overconfidence, he had to concede to himself, but he had been led by someone he trusted, to vastly underestimate the Orc's powers of spell craft.

He felt a growl, like that of a vicious beast, come from somewhere deep inside himself as he pushed Tierra aside, shards of broken water pot crunching under his boots as stepped through the doorway and advanced on the Reguard that had been his friend and mentor. His sword flew from it's sheath and came crashing down with a mighty clang upon the mace that Owyn managed to raise in parry just in time to block the swing that would have surely split him down the middle.

"Why did you do it, Owyn?" Rhesus hissed between clenched teeth, his face just inches from the other Redguard as their feet shifted purposefully in the skillful dance of position that would bring one or the other of them into a place of advantage to land the next blow. "There are plenty of women! Why take mine?"

"Tierra is special! You of all people should know that." came the reply, along with a sneaky toss of the mace into his left hand and a sidearm swing designed to catch Rhesus unprepared from his weak side.

Rhesus stepped back just in time to have the mace whistle past the end of his nose. He bore down on the opening left by the weapon switch and landed a glancing slice to the midsection that drew blood, but the shallow cut was not serious enough to slow the other warrior. Quickly the mace was back in Owyn's other hand closing the opportunity for another such strike from that angle.

"I see being dead hasn't slowed you down much Rhesus." came the sarcastic compliment along with a grimace as Owyn once again shifted and swayed with him attempting to close attack points and look for openings of his own. Not having expected such a confrontation, Rhesus had not worn his own armor and was glad he had caught Owyn with at least the upper half of his armor off for this fight, although it angered him all the more when he thought of what would have been likely to happen once the other half had been removed.

Taking another vicious swing he replied. "No the guy that fixed me up was a real pro! Did you sell him my body for a little extra cash? I've had a real fun time of it 'cause of you."

"No, I didn't" Owyn chuckled darkly. "I wanted you to stay dead, that's for sure. You were a friend, but I wanted your woman worse!"

"Sorry to disappoint" countered Rhesus, taking another giant swing that clanged like a cymbal off the shining, swinging mace, this one leaving a deep notch in the longsword's blade.

"She was so vulnerable, so easy to win over after your death!" taunted the arena master. "She has such a softer side you know!"

Rhesus growled again, resisting the temptation to wade in too quickly or take a foolish swing. Fighting in the small living area of his home was a challenge with these long weapons. The other Redguard was trying to bait him into making a fatal mistake. Another one, that is. Swinging the sword, still tangled in the mace's flanges off to the side, he freed his weapon, stepped back a pace, and prepared for another assault.

Moving quickly around a small table, he ducked under a candelabra and swung to the right. Mace fighting worked best with a shield and he didn't want Owyn to be able to maneuver his way around the room to the place where he had dropped his. The mace whistled past his ear, just missing caving in his skull. Rhesus spun and reflexively brought up his sword, The blow against it sent shock waves down his arm, almost tearing it from his grasp. He looked up to see a malicious grin spreading across the blade master's features. This was not going well.

Suddenly the expression on the grinning face of the blade master turned to surprise, a crossbow bolt tip protruding from the center of his chest, blood spraying from the heart of a man whose main arteries were suddenly pierced like a pincushion. His eyes rolled up into his head as he fell to his knees and then face down on the wooden planked floor. His body lay at a strange angle as the head of the arrow dug a furrow in the wood before catching fast and pinning him there. Behind where he had stood was Tierra, an empty crossbow in her hands. She dropped it and just stood there, staring at him, her face still a mask of shock and doubt.

Rhesus sheathed his sword and stepped over Owyn's prone body toward her as she crumpled forward into his arms. Grabbing her before she landed in the widening pool of blood he picked her up and carried her into the kitchen, setting her carefully upon one of the wooden chairs at the table. Her face was in her hands, sobbing hysterically. Not sure what to do, Rhesus just waited, his arm around her shoulders, holding her. He was mildly surprised when she finally lifted her face toward his, it was smiling.

"You must have quite a story to tell, my husband" she said solemnly, "But before you do, would you mind taking out the trash?" gesturing at the still bleeding body in the center of their living room. Rhesus was only too happy to oblige.

Rhesus looked both ways to make sure no city guards were nearby as he dragged the body of the man that had betrayed him outside and into the alley behind his house. He knew just where he would hide the dead blademaster. A place where few found the stomach to go: under the arena in the blood pits. A resting place such as that had seemed suitable to Owyn to leave him in, and it seemed only fair to return the favor.

It took quite a while and a lot of skulking to make it to the depths of the arena with a dead body over his shoulder, but somehow Rhesus managed to pull it off. Dropping the carcass on top of the heap of the dead from today's battles, he looked one last time at the face of the man that had been his friend, that had betrayed him to steal his wife. Shaking his head in disbelief, he climbed the ramp leading from the filthy stinking pit similar to the one in the Imperial city in which his own body had lain for so long.

"Rot in hell, Owyn" he said, strangely filled with a sense of foreboding. Turning back, he made his way back to the body and plunged his dagger through the side of its temple, slicing into the brain and ending, hopefully, the possibility of having to re-live this incident in some strange future twist of fate. If Owyn was raised from the dead now, his brain would be so damaged, he would be nothing more than a shuffling zombie.

His clothing was covered with blood as he emerged once again onto the street and headed back toward his home and his wife. People stared with disgust, but it was not that unusual for someone leaving the arena to carry part of their work home with them.

He had almost reached his door when he felt a strange tug on his arm and whirled around to see the Dunmer assassin, Velvet, looking him up and down with a strange smirk.

"Rhesus, just what have you been up to? I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

Rhesus smiled slightly, "What can I say, Velvet, you inspire me!"

* * *

**A/N: Well, that's the special "HEY! WE'RE BACK!" episode. Shorter than my normal ones, but you can't complain. It's here after such a long absence, so you'd better not complain!**

**This chapter has been brought to you by Commentaholic's Dad, and dedicated to Arty Thrip.**

**-=Commentaholic=-**


	17. Chapter 12: Complications

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: Well, this story's a bit dusty... -blows dust off of TFoLK- Ah, there we go, almost didn't recognize it. Ack! -coughs on cloud of dust-**

**Yep, this story might be more prominent in the near future, although I have chapters for about four other stories in progress right now: TFoLK, A.N.D., Blurred Reality, and a secret project that I will not reveal until it is ready (If it ever is finished...). I used to have an Omicron chapter in the works, but I decided to opt against it for my secret project. And don't even get me started on my songfic series.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve:** _Complications  
_

* * *

Velvet sighed with boredom as Tierra and Rhesus talked animatedly in the corner. The Redguard warrior was obviously happy to see his wife after all this time, despite the gruesome nature of their reunion. To be honest, Velvet was surprised at Rhesus's actions while she had been in Skingrad. She had arrived back just in time to see Rhesus carrying the body of another Redguard off into some alleyway, and had, unknown to Rhesus, tailed him to discover what was going on. The method by which he had mutilated the corpse's brain was... familiar.

She shook her head. Surely an "honorable" warrior such as Rhesus would not have ever been in the Dark Brotherhood. But it still nagged at her a little bit. Such a method of mutilation was common practice among the Dark Brotherhood, mainly because of cases such as Rhesus. Necromancers often decided to resurrect bodies of their victims, which annoyed the Black Hand to no end. Zombies that were originally made dead by the Brotherhood often had a grudge, or at least, a reason to come back with more than just the shaky shuffling motions that most zombies had. The common variety of zombies were normally taken from forgotten graveyards or crypts, but some Necromancers had strange tastes in minions, and chose to select high-profile bodies.

Celedaen had been one such Necromancer, which had been part of the reason why his assassination had been sanctioned. He had made the mistake of resurrecting the former Listener of the Black Hand a few months before he had resurrected Rhesus. And then he had foolishly gotten the re-animated Listener brutally obliterated by charging it into some random Priory hidden in the forests far to the south of Skingrad. Apparently the Priory possessed some powerful bodies that would have been useful, should it have succeeded, but the lobotomized Listener's corpse had been swiftly defeated by a scrawny-looking rat that had broken into the building. It had been enough that the Altmer had desecrated the grave of a Listener, but losing the zombie to a mere rat... It was unforgivable.

But Velvet had other things on her mind.

Tierra's willingness to join up with Rhesus, even after his extended absence, was unexpected. She had even gone so far as to kill her current husband, such a high profile act that, no doubt, had been observed by "forces unknown". By this, she meant the Dark Brotherhood. While such an... invitation from the Dark Brotherhood would be beneficial in getting Tierra out of the way, she couldn't have Rhesus being distracted by the contemplation of his lover's actions. She had to get them out of here before a Dark Brotherhood representative showed up, or worse, Lucien. She couldn't have Lucien knowing about her clandestine actions... not yet, anyway.

"Hey, lovebirds! Let's get a move on!" she shouted over at them. The two Redguards broke away from the embrace that they had been sharing. Rhesus looked a little startled, almost as if he had forgotten about Velvet being there.

"Sorry, Velvet," he said. Tierra looked on from beyond Rhesus, watching Velvet warily. After all, Velvet was an unknown factor. From what Tierra had learned, Velvet had been responsible for Rhesus's return. Whether that meant that the mysterious Dunmer was a necromancer or not, Tierra was unsure, but she wouldn't take her eyes off the strangely-clad woman. Besides, who knew how close Rhesus had gotten to this "Velvet" character.

"Come on, you two, we've got to get moving." Velvet said, heading towards the city's south gate. She reckoned that they only had until tomorrow before someone noticed Owyn's absence. After all, the Redguard had been a man thoroughly devoted to his job. If they were going to get away clear, they'd have to get Tierra out of town and to somewhere safe, most likely the cabin that she had been stowing Rhesus all this time.

As they reached the gate, Velvet slipped off to the side without the two Redguards noticing, re-appearing momentarily with a black horse that, according to the sigil emblazoned on the saddle, belonged to the Black Horse Courier company. Tierra almost spoke up against this, but Rhesus hushed her. He knew that in order to even match half of Shadowmere's speed, they'd have to have the fastest horse available, despite the methods used to obtain it. He could only hope that Velvet had stolen it instead of... Rhesus shuddered at the thought of the alternative.

Rhesus helped Tierra up into the saddle and climbed up behind her, looking over at Velvet, who was glancing around nervously for some reason from her position on Shadowmere. Strangely enough, she wasn't watching the city guards, but the forest around them, eyes darting to the shadows as if expecting dark figures to leap out of the darkness. The sun had dropped towards the horizon since they had arrived, and the world was now entering the half-lit realm of twilight. Darkness would soon engulf the world, and they would be clear to travel without hindrances, or at least, very few. But Velvet didn't want to take any chances.

At their slower pace, since Shadowmere would have to slow down considerably to allow the couple to follow on their mere black horse, they would likely have to make a stop on the way to the cabin. Velvet's brow furrowed in thought. She didn't want to risk the thought that news of Owyn's disappearance could possibly make it ahead of them, however unlikely it would be, so she would take them through the wilderness south of the Imperial City. The Legion's patrols were lessened there, as there wasn't much in the way of settlements in that region except for the occasional farm and village.

* * *

As they traveled, Rhesus thought long and hard about what to do with Tierra. It wasn't likely that Velvet would take kindly to yet _another_ tag-along.

Night fell as they traveled east. They took shelter at an old fort, hitching their horses on an old wrecked wagon that lay off in the weeds. The horse that Rhesus and Tierra shared could graze until morning. Velvet positioned herself apart from the two Redguards, choosing instead to rest on the second floor of the fort's ruined courtyard, her back against a pillar, watching the road, claymore at the ready.

When Rhesus woke, Velvet was already up and about, dousing the fire and packing their supplies. Rhesus roused Tierra and joined Velvet in the preparations for their departure. They tried to ignore the half-dried blood clinging to Shadowmere's hooves and lips. No doubt there was some brutally mutilated bandit corpse off in the grass, chunks ripped out of it and hoof marks in its back.

Later in the day, as they were riding along, Velvet suddenly stiffened in her saddle, reaching up for the claymore that lay across her back. Rhesus halted the horse that he and Tierra were riding, looking past Velvet to the hooded figure that stood in the road before them.

After a moment, Velvet chuckled and loosened the grip she had on her blade's handle. "Hello there, Mathieu. Long way from Anvil, aren't you?"

The robed figure lowered its hood, revealing a pale Breton with dark hair. "Indeed I am, Velvet, but I'm not the only one far from home." came a cold voice, "Cheydinhal lies along the left branch of the road you just passed. Where are you off to?"

"Nowhere in particular, Mathieu," Velvet replied, "Just doing some bodyguard work on the side. _Someone_ has to help pay for the lair upkeep." She said, gesturing at Rhesus and Tierra. "I'm just doing my part."

Rhesus didn't like how Mathieu leered at Velvet. It was almost as if he was analyzing her the way a predator does to its prey.

"Indeed," Mathieu said, "And may I be the first to offer you congratulations. I hear you're next in line to be Lucien's silencer. I have it on good authority that the current one won't last."

Velvet seemed very surprised to hear this, "Geordis is a very capable agent of the Black Hand, Mathieu. Watch your tongue, or you might be his next target. The Black Hand doesn't like that kind of talk. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to." Velvet spurred Shadowmere back into motion, trotting past Mathieu. Rhesus swore he saw Velvet's monstrous black horse snap at Mathieu, who barely avoided those sharp teeth. Rhesus and Tierra followed Velvet, occasionally glancing back to find Mathieu staring back at them.

Rhesus could feel Mathieu's eyes follow them until the cloaked Breton vanished from sight, and didn't feel comfortable even after that.

* * *

"Rhesus?"

The Redguard woke with a start. _Damn,_ he thought, _Must've dozed off again._ He stood up, cracking his back, looking towards the entrance to his tent, where a messenger stood. "Yes? What is it?"

"The Lady Velvet requests your presence, sir. She wants you to be there when she leads the charge."

_The attack?_ Rhesus cursed and pushed past the messenger, looking outside. Dawn was creeping over the hills that surrounded the camp, dotted with the occasional tree. He must've overslept. Rhesus thanked the messenger and sent him on his way. Donning the armor with the practiced skill of years of combat experience, Rhesus emerged from his tent a few minutes later, ready for battle. For a moment, his hand lingered on the pommel of the blade strapped to his lower back. He hoped he wouldn't need to use _it._

When Rhesus reached the command tent, Velvet and Helen were already there. The Argonians were nowhere to be seen. But then again, assassins rarely were.

Velvet looked up from the tactical map she had been examining. "Ah, Rhesus, nice of you to join us. For a moment, I thought you were going to miss out on the action."

A grin cracked Rhesus's features, "Wouldn't miss it." Velvet grinned back, but Rhesus could see the maniacal love of battle hidden within that simple smile.

"Well then," Velvet said, standing and grabbing the dark blade that rested against the table, "Let's get started." Rhesus noted the new sword with curiosity. Velvet already had her Elven claymore strapped across her back. Why would she need another sword? Whatever it was, it simply oozed with a murderous aura, which was suitable to the battle to come. Together, Velvet, Helen, and Rhesus emerged into the early day's light. Battlehorn Castle awaited.

* * *

**A/N: Well, it's shorter than usual, but it's at least a hint of what's to come. I finally figured a way to dig myself out of the flashback tunnels that I dug myself into and got lost. I expect a battle scene in the next chapter. **

**All of you fans who have been waiting _FOREVER_ for an update for this story, you can thank the diligent pestering of Arty Thrip and Dualkatanas. They never gave up, never failed to mention it in their reviews.**

**It's good to be back. The school's computers have finally un-blocked fanfiction again, and I can get on with my writing.**

**I can only hope the new, better version of this story will be an improvement. I've improved my skills since I began this, and I hope it all goes well.**

**-=Commentaholic=-**


	18. Chapter 13: So It Begins

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic

**A/N: Well, now that I've gotten the story out of those accursed flashbacks in a relatively smooth manner…**

**I'm not ashamed to say that I myself was driven into a very, -sigh- VERY long corner by those things. Those things are vicious, man. One can get lost, indeed...**

**Anyway...**

**Now it's time to rock and roll!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: **_So It Begins..._

* * *

Velvet and her cohorts emerged into the light of the glorious dawn. It would be the last dawn for many of those who would gather on this field.

Sunburst, Velvet's white stallion, stood ready for Velvet, the horse already fitted into his gleaming elven armor, vicious blades jutting down beside his mouth, ready to pierce anyone stupid enough to stand in the way of his rider and himself. Velvet slid the dark blade she was carrying into the sheath that was strapped to the side of the saddle and clambered up onto her steed. Her own armor matched Sunburst's, providing quite the impressive image of a strong warlord on the edge of combat. But however brave and battle-hardened Sunburst was, the horse could never measure up to Shadowmere's deadly strength. And what's more, Velvet never seemed truly at ease on the white horse that had replaced Shadowmere after... well... after what happened.

Helen appeared beside Rhesus as he readied his own horse, a battle-hardened black stallion. The vampire was wearing her usual black robes with a set of mithril mail concealed beneath it. No horse was seen, but Rhesus wasn't surprised. Helen preferred to go on foot, her vampirism providing a physical advantage that would be lost should she mount a slower beast, using a gray mare only when she traveled with the horde. "Are you ready, Rhesus?"

Rhesus sighed, "As I'll ever be, Helen. As I'll ever be. We've prepared too much to fail now," he said, double-checking the straps holding his shield onto his arm.

Helen nodded, patting his shoulder before moving off into the bustling throng of warriors preparing for battle. Rhesus glanced across the open field at the fortress. This would be a battle to remember.

He just hoped that it was a battle that he and his friends would survive.

* * *

Within the fort, just like in the bandit army's camp, there was the same preparations for war. Caecilius Saramius was certainly being pushed to his limits. Lord Kelvyn looked down from his balcony that overlooked the courtyard. He had chosen well. The young Imperial was living up to Kelvyn's expectations, nay, even exceeding them in some areas. Where nerve and fear would normally reside in soldiers standing as a bulwark against such destruction, only resolve and courage remained. The Knights of the True Horn were ready to stand and fight. Never surrendering, never retreating.

"My Lord?"

Kelvyn jumped at the voice from behind before he recognized it as the fortress's resident blacksmith, Niels. "Ah, come in, Niels. How can I help you?"

Niels bowed before he approached, "My Lord, I was wondering whether or not you wished for me to prepare your armor for combat."

Kelvyn waved his hand in dismissal. "You overestimate their chances, Niels. This fortress has stood for centuries, and against much more numerous foes. The walls are strong, and our men are ready to fight."

Niels looked nervous, but said nothing. He bowed and departed. "I shall prepare it nonetheless, My Lord. It is better to be safe than to be dead," he murmured as he shut the door behind him.

Half an hour later, Kelvyn stood on the walls alongside Caecilius, looking across the low hills at the assembled horde of the Velvet Rogue. In truth, Kelvyn did not feel all of the confidence that he had shown to Niels. He had heard the reputation of the Velvet Rogue, who had been slowly pillaging the surrounding lands over the last few months. She never stopped until her goal was achieved, and she certainly had the numbers to accomplish the conquest of such a target as Battlehorn Castle.

The low drone of horns was heard from the mass of bandits, and the army approached. Before him, the sound of swords, shields, and other implements of destruction. From behind, the sound of bows being strung, the rustle of armor, and shields being readied. A harsh grind of metal on stone drowned out all of it as the portcullis rose. A messenger rode out, bearing a flag of truce. Kelvyn still had hope that this could be resolved without combat, that the Velvet Rogue could be convinced to turn aside her path of conquest, but it was a slim hope. Kelvyn watched as the messenger reached the horde's lines, dismounted, and disappeared into the army.

They waited, on edge, for a response.

* * *

Helen looked on with emotionless eyes as the messenger's head thudded to the ground, followed a few seconds later by his collapsing form. Velvet wiped her claymore on the dead man's tunic, leaving a bloody streak on the dusty clothes. A cold laugh was heard as Velvet made as she sheathed her blade once more.

"Peace? They expect me to accept peace? Do they think I gathered this army here... just to turn back now?"

"Desperate words from a desperate people, M'Lady." Helen intoned. Velvet nodded, turning back towards the opening of the tent. She clapped her hands together once, causing everyone in the tent to jump with surprise at the sudden noise.

"Back to business. We can't leave them waiting, can we?"

She grasped the messenger's head from where it lay on the ground. Proceeding outside, she used the dead man's long hair to secure the head to the saddle of his horse and sent it on its way back towards the fortress. She watched as the metal portcullis opened to admit the animal and closed behind it.

A mournful cry was heard, no doubt the wife of the messenger. Velvet shook her head. This was war, losses were inevitable. You either got over it or you died. Emotions other than rage, vengeance, and a lust for blood had no place on a battlefield.

"Sound the advance," Velvet said calmly.

Horns blew once more, and the horde charged forward, weapons and voices raised, crying out for blood.

* * *

Caecilius gritted his teeth as the bandit army approached.

"ARCHERS AT THE READY!" he called out along the walls. In response, threescore soldiers chose arrows from their quivers, sighting along them, ready to fire. Steely gazes watched the approaching wall of miscreants as it neared the lines of swordsmen that stood in front of the gate. While some had questioned this tactic, Caecilius told them that if the bandits had direct access to the main gate, it could be battered down by forces of might and magic eventually, no matter how unskilled the horde was. Better to have soldiers ready to repel the crazed assailants than to have your main gate break down. As such, Caecilius had positioned one hundred and twenty soldiers in front of the gate, with the remaining soldiers in the courtyard behind it, ready to relieve the soon-to-be-weary front line soldiers.

"**_FIRE!"_** Caecilius shouted. Arrow shafts filled the air, flew towards the bandits. Feathered shafts sprouted from the front lines of the shabbily-armored men and women. Those struck by the defenders' accurate shots cried out and fell, only to be trampled by the ones that came behind. No burials for those who fell on this battlefield, only death.

But such was war.

The knights on the ground below the walls raised their shields in preparation for the onslaught. The armies clashed with the sound of sword on shield, metal on metal. For all their lack of discipline, the bandits had one thing the knights lacked: Bloodlust. From his vantage point, Caecilius glimpsed a bandit take two blades through the middle and still manage to kill a knight before falling. Spears and javelins flew through the air from the rear of each crowd, glancing off of shields or piercing bodies.

The knights of Battlehorn were losing ground, though, despite the aid from the archers above. For every enemy a knight felled, three filled their place. It was a simple matter of attrition. Battlehorn just didn't have the numbers to easily fend off such an assault. As the day progressed, many on both sides fell, be it to the sword, arrow, or spear.

Caecilius let loose an arrow, catching a bandit in the head, the barbed shaft piercing the man's sad excuse for a helmet.

* * *

Velvet went charging through the melee on her horse, slashing left and right at the soldiers below, felling them with her long, glittering blade. Armor-clad bodies convulsed as the claymore's shock enchantment lit a fire in their veins. The last thing her foes felt was their mind shattering in a nexus of blue-white light as their nerves were burnt to cinders.

As she plunged her blade into yet another victim, Velvet was caught unawares by the knight on her blind side that had hurled himself at her, tackling Velvet from Sunburst's saddle, carrying them both to the ground. Velvet, however, was up in a few moments. She had much experience in falling from horses. Such was the inevitable result when learning to ride Shadowmere.

She rolled to her feet, drawing the dark metal blade from its sheath, her claymore having been torn from her grasp in the fall. She quickly impaled the soldier with it, relishing his screams of agony as she took his life. A cold gray mist rose from the body, swirling in the midst of the battle for a mere moment before streaming into the sword's pommelstone, which glowed for a few seconds before returning to its normal purple hue.

Velvet cut a swath of destruction through the ranks of the Battlehorn knights, each one screaming in terror as their souls were ripped from their bodies one by one, trapped in the limbo that awaited all who fell to Umbra's edge.

A dozen more knights fell to Umbra and Velvet's deadly dance of carnage before the armored soldiers managed to reform their line after retreating a few feet from Velvet. She only grinned and took a step forward. Then the world exploded before her in a ball of fire.

* * *

**A/N: So... First real battle scene... I doubt I did well, but then again, the battle really has yet to get started in earnest. More exciting events to come, be sure of it!**

**I know, it's short. I haven't had a chapter this short in ages, but I just couldn't make a return to this story without ending it dramatically... That, and the library computer's time is running out. Either way, this should continue soon. I really only ended it right there because it's dramatic.**

**Plus, I need more time to think up the epic battle sequence that's coming up in the next chapter.**

**Aaaaand... No wait... that's it.**

**Shameless Announcement of Excitement: Alagaësia's New Dragon reached 10,000 hits on April 18th at 6:17 a.m.**

**-pops the cork on a bottle of champagne-**

**WHEEEEE! -sprays it everywhere, upsetting a sleeping dragon-**

**-regains his composure- Sorry Glaurung.**

**Anyway, I also hope to update that story as well, soon. The only thing standing in the way of that are these accursed plot bunnies that keep pestering me!**

**-=Commentaholic=-**


	19. Chapter 14: Halls of the Winter King P1

**The Fall of Lord Kelvyn**

By Commentaholic - Alpha 02

**A/N: Well, this certainly has been on the backburner... Hard to say whether or not this will be finished before long, but I certainly will try. **

**I've taken to playing Oblivion, trundling around in the Battlehorn region, looking for inspiration, imagining hundreds of combatants in a swell of blood and blades all around me... it actually worked, once I got on the hill overlooking the field... and after exploring other places.**

**On to the story, I guess.**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: **_In the Halls of the Winter King Part I_

* * *

_Drip._

_Drip._

The old wooden door creaked open as two cloaked figures slipped out of the bright sun above and into the dark recesses of Fort Rayles. Their tails, for they were the Argonians Shadow and Starlight, twitched in excitement as they crept through the dimly-lit gloom. The bandits and marauders they were leading filed in behind them, torches lit to lead them through the darkness. Shadow and Starlight, however, required no such assistance. Their eyes already adjusted to the shadows. Being assassins by trade, they were well-versed in the Illusory art of Magic. Night-Eye enchantments were also placed on their hoods, should their magicka be taxed by unexpected circumstances.

"There." murmured Starlight, pointing at the opposite end of the hall.

Two statues stood there, just before them, two gates faced each other from the side walls. Set into the forehead of each statue was a small diamond that gleamed with an unearthly light. These stone figures gave off a magical aura akin to that which guarded the Brotherhood Sanctuary in Cheydinhal. On the pedestals beneath each statue, there lay a silver arrow. Shadow picked one up, examining it from every angle.

"It sseemsss normal..." The arrow was snatched out of his hand by his sister.

"That's because it _is_ normal, Hist-for-brains!" Her azure eyes darted across the scene, taking in everything, her mind whirring beneath her ocean blue-scaled head.

She pulled something out of a satchel hanging at her side, a bundle of wood, or at least, that's what it looked like. She began unfolding it, and soon a fully-formed bow was in her hands. She nocked one of the arrows, "Which door?"

"What?" asked her brother.

"Which door do we go through first?" she asked impatiently.

At a loss for words, Shadow pointed a pointy claw-finger at the left door. Starlight adjusted her aim and fired. The silver arrow flew straight and true, striking the gem on the left statue's forehead. A rumble was heard and the metal gate rose up into the ceiling. Shadow turned to see Starlight folding up the bow and replacing it into her satchel.

"What?" she asked, "Simple gate mechanism safeguarded by unassuming crystal enchantments. We dealt with them before on the job with that Lich, remember?"

"Oh, yess... right..."

Starlight shook her head at her brother's stupidity. It was a wonder that she kept him around. "This way", she said, beckoning to the column of bandits behind them.

* * *

"... Only you would manage to guide us into 3 dead-ends in a row, Brother." Starlight muttered exasperatedly, looking at the wall before them.

"Don't blame me, Sisster... At least we got sssomething out of it, correct?" Shadow said, gesturing towards a goblin corpse that was surrounded by bottles of beer.

Starlight's palm soon became very well acquainted with her forehead. "And only you would think about drinking in the middle of a mission..."

Shadow prised a bottle from the goblin's hand, "Killing isss thirsssty work, Sisster. I will need thisss to drink over our foesss' bodiess."

Starlight snatched the bottle from his hands and threw it against the wall, where it shattered, splashing the dingy alcoholic beverage all over. A droplet of beer traced a line down Shadow's cheek from where it had landed, where his tongue darted out and tasted it. "It wass foul anyway..." he grumbled, spitting out the liquid.

His sister just grumbled and backtracked to the group. "That's the last passage in this half of the ruins..." she began, "So we'll have to try the other route." The men let loose a chorus of complaints, only to be silenced by the resting of Starlight's claw on the orange-jeweled hilt of her sword, which hung down from her waist in a loosely-wrapped leather sheath.

Normally, the men wouldn't be intimidated by this, the insane, bloodlusty marauders and bandits that they were, but something about that obscured blade scared them. It was almost as if the orange gem was looking at them, counting out in their minds how many of them it would slay.

"That's better." Starlight said, "Now move out." She brushed past them, followed by her brother. They retraced their steps back to the statue chamber, Starlight knocking the gem on the forehead of the right-hand statue, eliciting a magical chiming sound before the grinding of metal gears rose the gate blocking the other passage.

The group snuck along silently for a time before hearing voices. Starlight signalled a halt, nudging Shadow to follow her into the next room, crouched and moving silently. She slid the blade from its sheath, it emitting a slight orange glow before fading into the shadows, the light illuminating a split blade with things akin to teeth lining the gap.

* * *

"Hmm?" Raenor asked, raising his gaze from the book he was reading to look at Fervin Ureles, the conjurer addressing him. "What was that?

The Dunmer sneered at him, "I asked if you'd gotten those samples for me yet. My experiments can't wait any longer."

"I'm not your servant, Fervin," the Altmer stated firmly. He'd had enough of those bullying higher-level mages back at the Arcane University. That had been why he'd left that stuffy institution to study abroad, unrestricted by the 'rules'.

"Oh? The whelp chooses _now_ to grow a spine?" Fervin chuckled, a hand behind his back beginning to emit a cold aura in preparation for a frost spell. Before he could plunge his hand forward, though, a strange chill ran up his spine that had _nothing_ to do with the frigid blast in his hand. He whirled, arm raised, but there was nothing but the dark corridor.

Raenor's girlish yell of terror came from behind him as a silvery blade sprouted from the Dunmer's chest. Fervin looked down and fingered the sharp tip a moment before it retracted with a wet _squelch, _a small burst of fire spurting from the wound_. _The mer was dead already, his body just didn't know it, and he rocked back and forth for a moment before crumpling to the ground.

_One, _came an eerie voice in Raenor's mind as he looked at the shadow-wrapped figure standing between him and his fallen compatriot. The dark shape turned towards him, tail whipping around.

_An Argonian, then,_ Raenor's mind randomly noted. Not that it had anything to do with his inevitable doom. He couldn't even see the killer's face, it being hidden by a hood pulled over its face, not that it would do much good. One could not report their own murderer to the guards from beyond the grave. All Argonians looked alike, anyway, according to the guards.

"Tell me, conjurer," whispered the figure in a raspy voice, "Do you fear death?"

"Yes yes yes yes yes! Very much so!" Raenor blurted.

"Good, then this is that much more enjoyable..." they said, bringing their blade down across Raenor's chest. Blood spurted for a moment before the blade's scorching enchantment seared the wound shut and lit the Altmer's robe on fire. The conjurer's screams echoed through the ruin's empty halls as he was burned alive.

* * *

Starlight watched the body burn out and collapse against the wall.

"You alwaysss ssssurprise me, Sisster. Ssso calm and collected, then you show your dark ssside." Shadow murmured from her side.

"Silence, you fool. What's the point of killing someone if you can't enjoy it?" she said, sheathing the blade, which purred a pleased _Two_ as it was slid into the leather wrap. She walked past the bodies of the other conjurers, who had already been dispatched by Shadow while she'd dealt with the first pair. The bandits followed, terrified at their guides.

Another large wooden door was pushed open and the assassins and bandits entered the Halls of Winter.

As they did so, a long-dormant enchantment sparked to life. Deep in the depths of the ruin, down forgotten corridors and neglected halls, A tomb hissed as it cracked open, a billowing white fog seeping out. A wandering rat padding next to it shivered for a moment before collapsing to the ground, its whiskers and tail frozen out straight, rigid. It was frozen solid before it'd hit the ground.

_"The Winter King has returned_." whispered a voice from across the hall and an ethereal figure bolted from the room, ghostly armor clanking as it ran.

* * *

**A/N: Short, I know, but I've got big plans for what's coming up. Sounds like a broken record, eh? But still. I apologize for how short it is. I laughed a bit as I wrote the StaSha interactions :P They're fun!**

**-=Commentaholic - Alpha 05=- **

**PS: Sorry for the strange document mix-up. FFnet's being an idiot.**


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